Burns Song Trilogy II: When I'm 104
by Lambent Flame
Summary: Burns and Smithers are now married, but marital strife ensues when Burns is reluctant to accept his bisexuality and grapples with a secret from his past, leading him to wonder: can he truly be in love with his loyal lackey? Or was this an ill-advised affair? Waylon seeks to find once and for all - how deeply does Monty love him? Can he love him?
1. Contract Renewal

**Chapter 1**

 **Contract Renewal**

Smithers ran a comb through Burns' hair, one hand planted firmly on his shoulder as Burns gazed upon his inverted image in the mirror mounted on his bedroom wall. Smithers combed through the same spot on the back of his head long after the hairs had been sorted and smoothed, the motion automatic as he mulled over his next words. "How do you plan to broach the topic of...us," he said, a statement and not a question.

"They wouldn't dare cast aspersions on me. I am the heart of Springfield's Republican Party."

"I don't know...Barlow is a fixture at those meetings, and he's incredibly homophobic."

"I am not a homosexual."

"I doubt he thinks highly of bisexuals."

"I'm not a 'bisexual' either."

"See, Monty, you can't be heterosexual when you're fucking me and fucking loving it."

"I told you, I'm Smithers-sexual."

"Um, in case you haven't noticed, dear, I am a man. As long as you're attracted to me, you're attracted to at least one man. Most bisexuals aren't equally attracted to men and women, anyway." Burns looked apprehensively into his reflection. "Are you sure you want to go? If you don't want to go, then don't go."

"Of course I'm going, Smithers! What's the point in having millions of dollars if I don't use it to control the denizens of this backwater burg?"

"I'm just saying, it wouldn't kill you to miss one meeting."

"I'm not going to miss this meeting."

"If that's what you really want, sweetheart."

"And don't call me 'sweetheart'! I am nobody's 'sweetheart'."

"You'll always be my sweetheart."

He sighed ponderously. "Yes, I know." He kissed Smithers' cheek. "You'll protect me if things get too hairy, won't you?"

"Of course I will. I always have."

At a long table in the Republican Party Headquarters, the party members had assembled and were already immersed in a garrulous colloquy when Mr. Burns and Mr. Smithers entered the room and the chatter diminished to hushed whispers.

Birch Barlow sneered as they walked by. "I never thought you'd turn sodomite on us, Burns."

The Rich Texan chimed in with, "It just ain't natural."

"Homosexuality is perfectly natural," said Dr. Hibbert. "I'm a Republican because I believe in fiscal responsibility, not because of some moral crusade"

Rainier Wolfcastle said, "I used to think gay marriage should be reserved for a man and a woman. But now I believe we should be the party of equality, not unequality."

 _At least that strapping young man is on our side,_ thought Burns. _He certainly is an attractive fellow; no wonder he's such a popular actor._ His eyes scanned Wolfcastle's muscular frame. _What was_ that _? Was I...checking him out? No, I was merely admiring his muscular physique – there can't be anything 'gay' about that, can there? Nothing more manly than muscular men, yes?_

The Blue-haired Lawyer said, "As a Republican Party member, I will say I do not condone their lifestyle. However, as Mr. Burns' lawyer, I caution you all that we'll sue you for slander at the slightest provocation."

Lips curled into a snarl, Burns said, "I am not like him."

Krusty said, "But you do like him – in bed!"

"I am a real man, and I would never let him take me like a woman," said Burns.

Barlow said, "So you're saying he's the woman."

Smithers said, "There is no woman - we're a gay couple; the whole point is there is no woman."

Burns said, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Krusty whistled in astonishment. "I'm impressed you can take the man's role at your age."

Smithers said, "Both of us take the man's role because guess what? We're both men!"

The Rich Texan said, "You mean you do-si-do who takes it in the rear?"

Smithers said, "What? No, what I'm saying is it doesn't matter who's giving and who's receiving; it doesn't make either of us any more or less of a man."

The Rich Texan said, "So...you _are_ the girl in the relationship."

Smithers said, "No! Why are you so fixated on what we do in bed, anyway?"

Burns said, "Yes, that's right. I've made him my bitch. So don't...fuck...with...him. He is mine and mine alone to fuck."

Smithers said, "That tears it! I will not be humiliated like this. I'm waiting in the car. And you can forget about having any of my pumpkin pie tonight." As they snickered at the feeble threat, Smithers' cheeks reddened in mortification. "And you can forget about our Thursday night Ivy League rub."

Burns, now equally mortified, rushed in to say, "He's referring of course to our weekly massages by those two chaps from Princeton."

"No, I mean we rub our dicks together. And he just _loves_ it. Craves it. Isn't that right, dear?"

He went into the hallway, Burns running after him, saying, "Smithers, how dare you!" Once in the hall, he said pleadingly, "Waylon, please don't cancel our Thursday night plans."

As Smithers and Burns walked down the corridors to their office that Wednesday, a wave of workers snickered and straightened their faces upon seeing them. Burns' scowl deepened and Smithers' lips pursed in tension as his eyebrows furrowed in consternation. Once in their office, Burns huffed and said, "You said my reputation wouldn't suffer."

"No, I said you'd still have a reputation as the most powerful man in town. They still fear you."

"How can they fear someone they ridicule? Someone they've seen in flagrante delicto in his office with his assistant on the ten o'clock news?"

"Don't expect me to feel sorry for you." He opened a file cabinet and pulled out some manila folders and walked casually back to their desk.

Burns' eyes widened with surprise at his tone for a moment before softening with regret. "No, I wouldn't expect you to." He watched as Smithers thumbed through the papers inside, eyes focused and intent. "Waylon," he said, grabbing his wrist, "I'm sorry."

"Forget it. It's history," he said, waving him off as he resumed his work.

Flustered, he said, "Is that all you're going to say to me? Good God, man, I put you through hell. Where's your self-respect?"

"What do you want me to say, Monty? We've been through it all before."

"I want you to say..." About twenty seconds passed.

"Yes?"

"Dear God, Waylon, I'm sorry," said Burns, each syllable laced with solemnity.

Smithers stretched his lips into a strained smile, patted the back of his hand, and said in a quietly happy voice, "Apology accepted."

He watched as Smithers resumed perusing the file. His face looked so soft and innocent, as though those eyes had never seen the hardship of total ostracism. "How could I have done this to you? I treated you no better than a common Lenny!"

"You came through for me in the end. That's what matters most. Now, please, I don't want to think about that time."

"Yes, yes, of course." He continued to stare as Smithers returned to the file. He pushed the papers down against the desktop and grabbed his wrists again. Deliberately, he said, "I don't want you to leave me again."

Smithers beamed. "Don't worry. As long as you give your love to me, I will be right here to give all my love to you." He put his hands on Burns' lap and gently rubbed his thighs. "I will always love you."

"You promise?"

"Yes. Always."

* * *

"I've revised your contract," said Mr. Burns, reclining in his office chair beside Smithers, both of their feet resting on the desk. "You'll find the document most _engaging_. I'll need you to read and sign it posthaste." He handed Smithers a clipboard with a few pages stapled together, and Smithers flipped to the end and signed and dated. Mr. Burns made flustered sounds. "Aren't you going to read it first?"

"Why? You know I'll sign it no matter what it says."

"It does matter, you impudent young upstart. Now read the damn thing already!"

"All right, all right." As he read, he said, "I don't see the difference from my old contract yet."

"Keep reading."

He scanned the text in search of the new clause, curiosity piqued about what made this revision so interesting that it should command his full attention. "Engagement clause? _'I hereby agree to live with C. Montgomery Burns and act as his eternal companion, supplying support, affection, and sexual exclusivity as long as we both are living. In return, C. Montgomery Burns agrees to supply same to me, Waylon Smithers, Jr., and to never deny his affection for me again.'_ You...you're asking me to marry you."

"Well...do you agree to these terms?"

"Oh, I do! I do, I do, I do!" He buried his face in Burns' chest.

"In that case, I have something for you." He opened his drawer and opened a little box. "Give me your hand, Waylon."

"Absolutely." He splayed out the fingers of his left hand and let Mr. Burns put a platinum ring channel set with princess-cut diamonds on his ring finger. "What kind of ceremony do you want?"

"I don't care, as long as you don't have any sappy romantic music playing. You take care of the planning."

"You can count on me, dear."


	2. Getting Married Today

**Chapter 2**

 **Getting Married Today**

"We got your invitation."

"And...?"

"Waylon, you know how I feel about your...relationship."

"You haven't even seen us since we got together. Please, just give us a chance." He looked pleadingly into his phone camera.

"He's old enough to be my father! Old enough to be your father's father."

"We're both grown men, mother. It's not like he hit on me when I was a teenager. He told me he didn't even have passing thoughts about me until a few years ago."

"He never made a pass at you?"

"I always prayed he would, but he never did."

"Forgive me if I'm skeptical. You were still in high school when you first began working for him."

"He never showed interest in me. I fell for him early on, though, so believe me, I was looking for the slightest hint."

"I just think you should seek counseling before deciding this is what you really want."

"Oh, when have I heard that before? Hm...where have I heard that before? Tell me, mother. Where did I hear that before?"

"This...is different. I don't care if you marry a man – just not him."

"That's not what you were saying when you banned Malibu Stacy from the house and took me to that so-called therapist when I was eight because I played with dolls. Or when you caught me with Morris that summer back from college. Or when they kicked me out of the Navy. You just don't want a faggot for a son. That's it, isn't it?"

"Waylon, no – that, that was a long time ago. I was doing what I felt was right at the time. I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I just – I saw you endure relentless bullying at school and I didn't want that kind of life for you. I had no idea people would become so accepting of that lifestyle. I just wanted you to be happy."

"You know who makes me happy, happier than I've ever been."

"Have you ever considered that maybe the reason he makes you so happy is because you want to be close to your father, and you can only connect with him vicariously through Mr. Burns?"

"Does it matter anymore why I became attracted to him? The fact is that I am, and we're in love, and nothing or no one can stop me from walking down the aisle with him."

"I worry about how he'll treat you. The way he cruelly accused you of trying to rape him just so people wouldn't find out about your relationship... If your father were still alive, he'd kill him for that, and he admired the hell out of the man."

"He never meant for me to get arrested. When they did arrest me, he panicked and couldn't spit it out. I understand what it's like to love someone and not be able to say it. He feels immensely guilty about that. And trust me, mom, he never feels guilty about screwing people over. I know people say it a lot, but he really has changed. He cares about me in a way I've never seen him care about anyone else before. I've never seen him be so affectionate to anyone else."

"I don't know what it is about the Smithers men that makes you like that awful man."

"That 'awful man' is about to be your son-in-law, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't malign the man I love."

"I'll say nothing about him, then."

"So..." He lowered his eyes, his face softening from gallant defense to pensive hesitation. "Are you coming to the wedding, or not?"

"I'll have to think about it."

"I hope you do."

Burns entered the parlor. "Waylon, come here. I have something I must show you."

"We'll talk more about this later," he said, looking over his shoulder and waving to Burns. "I love you, mom. I'll talk to you later." He ended the call. "Yes, dear?"

"Follow me." He did so, and they walked out to the garden. They sauntered through the cobblestone paths abutting the diverse and prepossessing foliage. They stopped at a conspicuous slab of granite and the hole before it. From behind a bush, Burns retrieved a polished cedar vessel with an emerald embedded in the top. "I thought your father deserved a proper burial." Smithers wiped a tear from his eye. "Help me lower him inside."

He took one end of the vessel and helped place his father's skull into the pit. Burns made a beckoning gesture, and a man emerged from behind the shrubbery, pulling a wheelbarrow of dirt and carrying a shovel. As he filled the grave, Smithers encircled his arms around Burns, who leaned into him and squeezed him around his elbows, both men crying in quiet spurts. When the work was done, Smithers leaned in to read the epitaph:

 _Waylon Smithers, Sr._

 _A hero and loving father_

 _It was a joy to know you._

 _1911-1955_

"Tell me about him again." They sat on a nearby bench, and Burns held his hand in both of his as he recounted some of the good times they'd shared.

* * *

"So, are you ready to become my wife tomorrow?" said Burns, snuggling up against Smithers as he settled into bed.

"Your _husband_."

"Well, I'm not going to play wife to you, no sir. I had enough of that in my fraternity days."

"We'll both be husbands, remember?"

"Two husbands? That's absurd. How can there be two husbands?"

"Oh, Monty, your casual homophobia is as endearing as it is exasperating," he said, removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand. "Liking men doesn't make me any less of a man."

"I know," he said, kissing Smithers' nose. He turned away and said quietly into his pillow, "However much I wish it did."

"Hm?" He rocked Burns' shoulder gently in his hand. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

"Yes, you did. You said you wish I were a woman."

"Yes. And?"

"I'm not good enough for you. That's what you're saying, isn't it? Well? Isn't it?"

"Quit your melodramatic hissy fit and get some shut eye."

"Monty..."

"Waylon, what the devil is bothering you?"

He drew his knees up to his chest. "If I'm not good enough for you, just say so."

"That's not it, and you damn well know that's not it. If anything, you're too good for me."

"Then what is it?"

"It's not easy loving you."

"I guarantee it's a hell of a lot easier than loving you."

"I only meant that this would all be much simpler if you were a woman." He placed a hand on Smithers' shoulder and looked up at him affectionately. "I want you as you are." As a smile slowly materialized on Smithers' face, he said, "Your smile is beautiful. So much like your father's..."

Smithers kissed his lips and held him against his chest. Burns ran his hand through Smithers' hair, then draped his arm around his shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning, my dear, dear...husband." And he drifted into slumber.

Smithers awoke to the sound of their alarm clock and stretched his arms out, fumbled for his glasses, and placed them over his eyes before shutting the alarm off. He next reached over the bed, grasping for Burns. As his vision focused, he saw that he was alone in their bed.

"Monty?" He stood and entered the hall, calling again. "Monty? Where are you?" He walked down the hall, peeking his head through dozens of doors, calling his name as he went. He entered the ballroom where they were to have the reception and saw him sitting at the table, still in his nightgown, with a bottle of champagne open and a glass filled with it. "There you are. I was starting to get worried," he said, sitting beside him.

Burns reached out and touched his cheek, stroking his lips lightly with his thumb, eliciting a smile of deep satisfaction and a soft moan. Smithers drew his lower lip inward and closed his front teeth lightly over his thumb, smiled mischievously, and closed his mouth over the appendage, sucking slowly, seductively, moaning with such delight as he might if he were sucking on an appendage situated considerably lower. "Save it for the honeymoon," he said curtly as he withdrew his finger.

"Yes, dear," he said as Burns wiped the saliva on the collar of his night shirt. "What are you doing out here at this time of morning anyway?"

"I needed to grow accustomed to the idea. I simply can't envisage us being wed."

"I understand what you mean. It all seems so...chimerical. I keep thinking I'm lost in a wonderful dream and will wake up any second." He squeezed Burns' shoulders and leaned in. "As long as I hold on to you, I can't wake up."

Burns pushed him away. "I'd like to show you my wedding gift to you."

"You didn't have to do that. You're a better present than anything you could possibly give me. Besides, traditionally, the grooms don't give each other wedding presents, the guests do."

"Yes, well, traditionally, there aren't two grooms in the first place."

"Touché."

"Besides, you know what sorts of gifts they'll bring – blenders and label makers and similar assorted middle-class bric-a-brac. No...what I have in store for you is far superior to any peasant offering." He stood and looked back to him. "Come with me."

Smithers followed him through the halls of the cavernous mansion until they came upon a locked door. "In your conservatory?"

"Yes. And if anyone asks, I did it with the candlestick." He unlocked the doors, and Smithers pulled them open. He gasped, his jaw dropping and his eyes bulging in childlike awe. The spacious room was filled with every Malibu Stacy doll and accessory he had ever laid eyes on, various plants in pots suspended from the rafters hanging in the midst of display cases and shelves stocked with a multiplicity of Malibu Stacy products. He ran around the room, vacillating in his choice of which doll to take first into his hands. After a minute of excitedly jumping from spot to spot, he ran back to Burns and fell to his knees.

"Thank you..."

"I will never understand your fervid devotion to this doll, but...what the hell, it makes you happy."

Twirling a Malibu Stacy's hair and gazing lovingly at it, he said, "I love you more than anything..."

"Are you speaking to me or to that doll?"

"Oh! To you, of course, Monty," he said, standing and touching his shoulder, looking sheepishly at him before giving a sly smile to the doll in his hand.


	3. The Ring Cycle

**Chapter 4**

 **The Ring Cycle**

The pair stood on a stage before the grand ballroom, the guests seated in chairs, watching as Homer presided in front.

"Do you, Charles Montgomery Burns, take –"

Smithers whispered to Homer, "We wrote our own vows, remember?" _Well, sort of. Monty provided the gist of his vows, but I metamorphosed them into something a little more poetic._

"Oh, that's right. That just makes it easier for me."

Burns cleared his throat, then took Smithers' hands into his. "I want to live out my days with you by my side. To cherish and to savor you like a fine wine that ages as well as I have. To honor and love you as you have always honored and loved me. To make you complete as you have completed me." He squeezed Smithers' hands as tightly as he could and gazed determinedly into his eyes. "And I will give you your due respect." It caught Smithers off-guard, his penetrating stare slightly intimidating him despite the positive sentiment, as the last sentence was not part of the vows they'd written, so it felt as though he were speaking to him only. "Okay. You go."

He blinked the enraptured tears out of his eyes and cleared his throat. "For over twenty years, I've languished after you, hopeless and adrift, aching and despairing. And just when I lost all hope..." his voice crumbled, "you shone your love on me like a beacon. I pledge to my heart – I mean, I pledge you my heart, for when eternity – until eternity ends – I'm sorry, let me start over. I guess I'm just, I can't believe I'm really standing here in front of you all, about to m-marry," he began to cry as he looked into Burns' eyes with desperate longing, "to marry you. My..." his tears flowed increasingly readily, "my one true love. I pledge... I pledge you my soul, my heart and my soul..." He broke down crying, bringing Burns' hands up to his face and crying into them.

"You promised you wouldn't do this," he said, trying to wrest his hands away. Disconcerted at Smithers' inability to regain his composure, Burns turned to Homer and said, "Just read the standard vows."

"Do you, Charles Montgomery Burns –"

"I already said mine."

"Sorry, it's a package deal. Do you, Charles Montgomery Burns, take Waylon Smithers to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?"

"Yes. I do."

"Do you, Waylon Smithers, take Montgomery Burns to be your lawful wedded husband?"

"God, yes! I mean, go on."

"Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?"

"Yes. Yes, I do!"

"I now pronounce you married. You may now –"

Smithers took Burns in his arms and dipped him, kissing him deeply, relishing in the liberating feeling of publicly expressing his passion.

They proceeded with the reception, where they danced to the eponymous song of the musical Anything Goes. Then wedding photographers captured the moment as they playfully fed each other pieces of the wedding cake, which had plastic figurines of themselves perched at the top.

"Thank you, Monty, for making this the happiest day of my life." He kissed Burns' cheek, his own rubescent cheeks still wet with tears. "So, mom...what do you think?" he asked, nervously twiddling the umbrella in his cocktail. "Be honest."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to be happy for you, but all I could think during the ceremony was, 'I'm almost glad your father is dead so he doesn't have to see this.'"

Smithers stiffened his lip as tears welled up in his eyes and his chest hiccuped. He looked into Burns' eyes briefly before shutting his own. He set his drink down beside the cake, the cocktail sloshing out as the glass wobbled on the tabletop, and he ran out of the room, silently wiping a tear from his cheek.

Burns approached the microphone. "Consider the festivities terminated effective immediately. Once I catch up to Waylon, I _will_ order him to release the hounds, so if you enjoy having all your skin, I suggest you start running now." He tented his fingers then walked briskly out of the room and, noting Smithers was nowhere in sight, headed for the conservatory. He opened the door slowly and peeked his head in to verify his hunch about Smithers' whereabouts. "Waylon?"

Smithers lay on his back in the window seat, gazing forlornly at the Malibu Stacy wearing a wedding dress and veil that he held above his head. He stroked the veil, flipping it back over her head and repeating the motion as gravity repeatedly drew it back over her face. Leaning against the door frame, Burns said, "Waylon." He didn't answer, and for a full minute there was such silence that the only sound they could hear was the sound of the mesh veil rubbing against the satin dress. "Smithers! Answer me at once."

Without altering his gaze or his rhythmic stroking, Smithers said, "I don't know why it bothers me so much. It didn't bother me like this when I assumed he'd be ashamed of me for being gay. But I feel like I've failed him by falling in love with you."

"I wish I could tell you he would approve of our union. But I know he wouldn't." He took a few steps forward, picking up a 1978 Fun at the Beach Malibu Stacy still in its package from a shelf in the middle of the room and inspecting it as if attempting to divine its appeal to his husband. He set it back on the shelf and turned sharply to Smithers. "Snap out of it. It's foolish to let family and friends stand in the way of what you want. I didn't marry a fool."

Smithers finally looked to him, drawing the doll to his chest. "I wish it were as easy for me to live that way as it is for you."

He took a few steps closer. "You think it's easy for me?" He sat lightly on the edge of the seat. "I cared deeply for your father. But he didn't give his life for us to spend ours wallowing in guilt." He leaned over and cradled Smithers' cheek in his hand, displacing his glasses, then he put their lips together and tentatively slid his tongue inside. Smithers inhaled sharply and moaned needfully, then feebly grasped at Burns' black bow tie, his fingers brushing the fabric then slipping away.

He turned his face toward the window, breaking their kiss. Burns leaned in again, his lips brushing the corner of Smithers', but Smithers clenched his lips together and turned his head away again. "No, Monty. I'm not in the mood."

"Pish tosh. Your trousers are telling me a different story." He lightly touched Smithers' lip with his index finger.

"Yeah, well, maybe I just don't _want_ to be in the mood." Burns tilted his head down and grazed his teeth against his neck just below the jaw, then kissed him wetly. "Oh! But I am..." He sniffled. "I am..." Burns loosened Smithers' pants and slipped his hand inside. He grinned at the way he writhed in pleasure beneath him. "I shouldn't – oh...I shouldn't like this so much. I mean, at all. Mmm..." Burns pulled his pants and boxers down. "No – I can't! Mr. Burns, stop it!"

Burns pulled away abruptly. His voice solemn and his eyes averted in shame, he said, "You're right, Smithers. This whole affair was ill-conceived."

"Mon – huh? No, wait, what? No, no, no, no, Monty, no, this is right, this is – " He held Burns tightly against his chest, his Malibu Stacy falling off his chest and to the floor, the veil catching on his cufflink and tearing on the way down. "I..."

"Look so much like your father."

"I know you love me." He took Burns' hands in his.

"What makes you think love is enough?"

"Love is always enough! Love is what kept me by your side all these years. Love is what kept you from letting me go to prison. We're only together because of love. I know it sounds cheesy, but it's true."

"Your quixotism is as misguided as it is endearing."

"Monty...you have nothing to be ashamed of. This is real. Our love is pure, the purest either of us will ever know. Hell, you weren't ashamed of dumping radioactive waste in the park, of releasing the hounds on those orphans who came trick-or-treating, or of blocking out the sun. Why feel ashamed now?"

"Screwing people metaphorically is an enterprise far less fraught than screwing people literally." He ran the tips of his fingers along Smithers' chest. "I actually cared about what he thought of me." He pulled back, withdrawing his hand. "I still do. For Pete's sake, man, you're young enough to be my grandson."

"But...I'm not your grandson. Besides, you've been with women my age."

"I wasn't friends with any of their fathers."

"You just told me not to let friends or family stop me from getting what I want. I think it's damn good advice, and I'm taking it. So take me, Monty. Take what you want and let nobody stop you. The man I married would never accept anything less."

"The question is: do I want you more than I want to live up to your father's respect for me?"

"You care what he would think; do you care what I think? Because I think life is too short to deny yourself pleasure just because other people think it's gross. If I'd done that, I'd still be married to Cheryl and not to you. I would've died a miserable and lonely man enduring an unfulfilling sex life who subjected his wife to that same fate. When I left that marriage, I left that life behind. Don't let us meet that fate. We deserve better than that."

"That's easier for you to say. You weren't his closest friend. How would you feel if I were having sex with your son?"

"Envious. Of him, obviously, not – not of you."

"You wouldn't think I was a creepy old lech?"

"Please. I know you, and I know you wouldn't seduce a young man and take advantage of him. That's not your style."

"Cease your efforts to mollify me. You are failing to do so."

"There must be something I can say," he said, stroking Burns' inner thigh.

"Leave me be, you bespectacled Mata Hari! Nothing you can say will assuage me."

Smithers leaned in, tilted his head, and pressed their lips together. They kissed multiple times in quick succession, their lips never separating by more than a millimeter. When Burns pulled away, Smithers laid his hand on the back of Burns' neck, pulling him closer until his mouth met his ear, and whispered, "How could there be anything wrong with that?"

"Smithers..."

"Monty."

"...come here," he said, leaning against Smithers' chest as he scooted closer. Looking up into his eyes, he spoke wearily: "I want you."


	4. Mile High-Jinks

**Chapter 4**

 **Mile High-Jinks**

"Attention, valued employees, drones, and seat warmers," said Smithers excitedly over the intercom, "while Mr. Burns and I are on our – our honeymoon," he giggled giddily, laying his left hand over the back of Burns', their wedding bands making a scarcely audible clink as they collided.

"Actually, Smithers, this month it's more of a blood moon," interjected Burns.

"Yes...well, while we're away on our fabulous island retreat, we need someone to step in for us. Congratulations...Lenny and Carl!"

"Do us proud, Lenny and Carl, and you shall each receive a handsome reward." Burns patted his pocket, which held a pair of fifty dollar gift certificates to Sears.

"Well, so long! Our plane is waiting," said Smithers, grabbing their luggage in both hands as Burns climbed up on his back and held on tight. He dropped the mic and scampered out of their office and up a few flights of stairs to the roof, where they boarded their helicopter, which Smithers piloted to a nearby airfield where they transferred to Burns' private jet.

Sitting in seats opposite to each other as the plane took off, they clinked glasses of champagne and sipped, some of the fizzy beverage sloshing out of their glasses and dribbling down their chins. As Smithers dabbed at Burns' neck and chin with a monogrammed handkerchief, Burns said, "So, Smithers. What do you want to do first? Stroll down the seashore, go birdwatching in the brush, go hike in the hills...?"

"That all sounds good to me. Whatever you want to do, I want to do. As long as we're together, I'll be in heaven."

"Oh, for the love of – give me a real answer."

"Okay. I'd like to walk on the beach with you." He rested his elbow on the table between them and cradled his cheek in his hand as he stared deeply into Burns' eyes, which gazed far off out the window, distracted and disturbed. Smithers took Burns' left hand loosely into his own and gently squeezed his palm a couple times as he ran his middle finger and thumb up and down Burns' ring. "It'll be okay, Monty. We'll get through this. We've gotten through so much worse."

"I know I want you. But I still keep thinking about your father."

"You said he loved me unconditionally, right?"

"More than anything."

"Well, who I am is someone who loves you."

"And who I am is someone who defiled his precious, only son."

"Oh, Monty...my history professor beat you to the punch twenty-five years ago." He chuckled inwardly at the fond memories of his first major dalliance. "You didn't defile me. I came on to you, remember?"

"Oh...I suppose you did."

"Of course I did." He slid his hand away from Burns' and patted the back of his hand as he stood. "I'll get you some caviar."

"Yes, consuming the unborn young of a nearly extinct sturgeon always lifts my spirits."

Smithers retrieved a small container and a little spoon from the fridge and sat beside Burns as he fed him little bites of caviar, smiling waggishly as Burns savored each bite and moaned in satisfaction each time. Burns' pleased responses to his meticulous servility had long taken on a sexual undertone for Smithers, for when he had all but abandoned hope that a sexual relationship might materialize between them, he had taken to viewing Burns' expressions of sensuous pleasure at his service as a surrogate for sexual reciprocity.

"Have some," said Burns as he finished a spoonful. "It's heavenly."

"I think I'll take you up on that," said Smithers as he slipped another spoonful of caviar into Burns' mouth. Immediately after he withdrew the spoon, he closed in and kissed him, spreading their lips and sucking some of the caviar out of his mouth. Burns put his hands on Smithers' lapels, partly pushing and partly pulling, while Smithers moved his hands to caress Burns' cheeks.

When they parted, each struggling to reclaim a steady breathing cadence, Burns panted, "You...you'll be the...the death of me..."

Smithers kissed the corner of his mouth, then proceeded to kiss along his cheek and down his neck as he pulled him closer, rocking him slightly back and forth in an embrace. "How did a man like me get so lucky to land a man like you?"

Burns raised an eyebrow. "You believe in luck?"

"I didn't until we got together."

"I would have had you eventually." He sipped from his champagne. "I had been vacillating between propositioning you and cutting ties with you for some time. That's the reason those rumors, and your overture that confirmed them, terrified me so – I feared my less-than-professional interest in you had become obvious."

"You wanted me then?"

"Yes. I made every attempt to extinguish my desire for you – treated you coldly, sent you away when the temptation grew too great, had flings with myriad attractive women – but I always had eyes for you."

"How long have you...had eyes for me? You told me you never thought of me that way even fleetingly until a few years ago."

"Yes, well...I lied. It was closer to fifteen years ago. It was on my ninetieth birthday that I realized the feelings I had been developing for you were more than merely comradely. You were bathing me and the soap dropped into the tub, and when you reached down to get it, the back of your hand brushed against my buttock, the bar of soap slid under my leg, and when you reached for it –"

"I grabbed your testicle."

"Yes, I knew you would remember. So then I said, 'That's not the soap,' and you blushed, and I blushed, and then you apologized and retrieved that elusive soap brick. But when you said you were sorry, I told you, 'Don't be.' I was fetched by your sopping shirt and rolled up sleeves and your timorous smile, and it occurred to me that you were quite comely.

"And that night, I dreamt you stepped inside the bath with me and rubbed the soap all over my body until it vanished, but even after it did so, you persisted in running your hands all around me. It left me exultant upon awakening. You were standing there before me the moment I awoke, as always, ready with my breakfast and a smile, and I could feel myself turn red as a ruby. I was sure you would think me a degenerate if you ever knew."

"I can't tell you how many times I've had that same dream."

"You were so young...barely thirty, just a third my age...it was utterly repulsive that I should be attracted to you. And yet...the vile nature of my attraction only deepened your allure to me. I wanted to believe I could put that desire aside. I tried in vain to convince myself I didn't care about you, that you were merely another pawn, a faceless lackey. The last time I cared about a Smithers..."

Smithers leaned toward him and stroked Burns' calf with the inside of his foot. "Monty. How would you like to join the mile-high club with me?"

"That depends. What are the perks, and are the membership dues steep?"

Smithers chuckled at his innocent interpretation of the slang phrase. "There are no dues. Just...turn your dream into reality. Here on this plane." He dragged the toe of his shoe very slowly up the inside of his leg. "With me."

"Oh..." As Smithers' intentions dawned on him, a look of terror overtook him, and he sweated and averted his eyes. "I – I'm afraid I can't oblige that request, for you see..." His eyes darted back and forth. "I left my aphrodisiac in my other jet. I couldn't...sustain you."

"We can go back for it. We'll just tell the pilot we left behind something important." Smithers reached for the intercom to communicate with the pilot.

"Wait..." He opened up a compartment and rifled through it for a few seconds, then said, "Never mind. Wouldn't you know? It was here all the time."

"Oh," said Smithers, bringing his arm back around Burns, his eyelids lowering and eyebrows raising. "Well, in that case...are you ready for me to make your dream come true?"

"Technically, we'd need to be in my bathroom to do that."

He held Burns' chin with the fingers of one hand. "I want to take you. Here. Now."

"You're incorrigible."

"Take whatever time you need," he said, loosening Burns' tie. "Then take me. Take me higher than this jet ever could."

"Not right now, Waylon."

"Oh, okay..." he said, disappointedly straightening Burns' tie. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong. I know your sex drive isn't as high as mine, and I don't mean to pressure you."

"Don't apologize. It's unbecoming of you."

"You know...you don't have to lie. If you're not in the mood, just say so next time. I don't mind being patient with you."

"I will endeavor to be more forthcoming in the future."

Smithers smiled, held his hand, and rested his head on Burns' shoulder, deeply inhaling his terrifically enchanting musk. "Maybe you're not up to making your dream come true right now, but my dreams are already coming true right now." Indeed, even if they never had sex again, he would be ecstatic to simply have the freedom to kiss and cuddle his beloved whenever the urge struck him.

Once their plane had landed, they disembarked and Smithers carried their luggage inside a beachfront cottage, then left the dwelling to rejoin Burns. He closed his fingers around the back of Burns' hand and pulled him closer so that their arms and shoulders touched. They both giggled. Burns rested his head on Smithers' shoulder and placed his palm on Smithers' chest, his eyes closed, his face perfectly serene. Smithers closed his other hand over Burns'. As they walked along the shore, Smithers failed to take in any of the sights surrounding them, as he couldn't keep his eyes off Burns.

"Let's stop and rest a little," said Burns, clearly exhausted.

"Where should we sit?"

"That rock would do nicely," he said, pointing to a relatively low and flat rock amid the myriad tall and jagged boulders.

"But dear, your seat cushion is in the cottage."

"No, you aren't." Smithers smiled and sat on the rock, guiding Burns to sit on his lap. He grew painfully aroused, a fact which didn't elude his spouse. "So...nice waves this afternoon." Burns shifted up and down in his seat, intentionally tantalizing Smithers. "Perhaps later we'll get our feet wet in them."

"I can't take it anymore. I want you now, Monty, please!"

"Out on the sand, or these rocks? I don't think so."

"I'll carry you and run back to the cottage, then!"

"Let's go." With that, Smithers hoisted him up on his back and sprinted for the cottage and set him down at the entrance while he opened the door.

Smithers carried him across the threshold and walked straight across the room to a chair with plentiful cushioning, where he set Burns down and immediately began to disrobe, the door still swung open. He pulled Burns' trousers off in a smooth motion and lavished him with kisses, their lips dragging lazily across each other's faces and making contact with each other's chin and cheek, accuracy yielding to passion. Smithers brought a knee up to the chair's cushion and leaned into him. "Oh, Monty," he said, nearly breathless, as he brought his hand to Burns' back and drew him closer. "I need you, now."

Burns looked into his eyes with muted longing, then turned his head away and grimaced. "No. I can't do it."

Smithers held Burns' jaw gently in his hand and backed away enough to look him in the eyes. "Why not?"

He backed away from Smithers, pressing himself deeply into the upholstery. "I'm betraying your father's trust."

"Can you forget about my father for one fucking moment?"

"You look too damn much like him for me to forget him! For God's sake, you share the same name!"

"But I'm _not_ my father!"

"Sometimes I wish you were."

Smithers slid down from the chair to the floor. "What in God's name do you mean by that, Monty?"

"I didn't."

"No. You did. You did, and I need to know why."

"I miss him; that's all I meant."

"But he's dead! He's been dead forty-three years! Pay attention to the living, breathing Waylon Smithers standing right in front of you. The one who's madly in love with you. The one you _married_ , Monty. You _are_ glad you married me...aren't you?"

"Yes. I am."

"But you don't want to make love to me."

"I want to. But...I just can't bring myself to do it."

"So – what? You're never going to make love to me again? Because if that's your plan, I want you to tell me now. So I know what I'm in for. You know I wouldn't leave you."

"I don't have a damn plan."

"I'll give you whatever time you need to sort through this, but you can't keep teasing me like this."

"I didn't intend to tease you. I wanted you. I still want you."

"Clearly not as much as I want you."

"Oh, don't you start! No one could possibly want anyone as much as you want me."

"But I do." He inhaled slowly, deeply, his eyes closed as he placed a hand on Burns' knee. "I'll be in the bedroom. If you change your mind..." He shifted his gaze downward before turning and walking to the bedroom door.

"Smithers, wait –"

He grabbed the inside of the door frame and leaned against it. "Yes, Monty?"

Quiet and sincere, he looked straight at him and said, "I'm sorry."

"Me too." He shut the door behind them.


	5. Vows Made in Wine

**Chapter 5**

 **Vows Made in Wine**

"Ready to go hiking, dear?" said Smithers, strapped to his back a huge backpack stuffed to the gills and equipped with a horizontal bar that on either side held a wine glass suspended in the air.

"Yes."

Burns had traded his usual business attire for a dapper safari outfit. Smithers couldn't help but be turned on by the thought of his husband taming the wild and hewing the flora that got in his way. But he had had many years to learn how to put such thoughts aside when sex was not a possible end for them. Instead, he appreciated his figure from a distance, his mind retreating to a fantasy of Burns saving him from a man-eating lion...because Burns wanted to be the man-eater. He moaned unconsciously.

"Smithers! Wake up! We don't want to miss the sunset, now do we?"

"Huh? Oh, um, of course, dear. Right away," he said, running out the door where Burns was standing, then beginning to strike out on the sand.

"Ahem. Aren't we forgetting something?"

"Oh, of course!" Smithers walked back and picked him up, supporting him from the crook of his knees and the curve of his spine. "Remember the last time we were here? The tour guide kept getting lost!"

"Well, at least we won't have to tolerate such follies this time, since I had the foresight to dispatch the majority of the resort staff save the cooks and emergency personnel."

"It'll be just you and me."

Burns put a hand on Smithers' chest and another on his shoulder, sighing softly as he settled in. When other people touched him, it usually felt invasive, painful even. When others touched him, forced their closeness on him, he recoiled, for he had no desire to be close to such contemptible ants. But in Smithers' arms, he felt safe and soothed. Protected. Comforted. As Smithers carried him up the trail, he came to notice the rhythmic beating of Smithers' heart. So vibrant! So fast! So regular! He felt his own hand pulse in time with Smithers' heart. Such a youthful heart had the strength to beat for both of them.

His eyes focused on the birds in the trees scampering from branch to branch as Smithers yammered on about something he had read in National Geographic. A few beads of sweat rolled off his brow and splashed the inside of his glasses, yet he didn't blink or ask to stop, just shifted Burns' weight and pulled him closer to his center of gravity and carried on. If Smithers was anything, he was remarkably persistent, in matters of love and labor both.

They reached their destination, a cliffside ridge overlooking the island, and Smithers gently lowered his feet to the ground, firmly holding him around the waist to support him in case his feet had fallen asleep or his balance were to grow unsteady. As Burns stood of his own power, he took Smithers' arms by the elbows and separated them from himself.

"We still have some time before the sun sets," said Smithers, unloading the pack from his back and opening it up to retrieve a satin-lined blanket and Burns' seat cushion. When he had finished unfurling it over the dirt clearing, he sat upright the 1947 bottle of Château Cheval Blanc he'd wrapped inside it and positioned the two wine glasses in front of them. He gestured to the seat cushion. "Sit down, sweetheart."

As Burns sat, Smithers poured two glasses and handed him one. Smithers rarely called him _sweetheart_. It hardly seemed befitting of a man of his prominence and infamy. Still, it flattered him that Smithers saw his kindly and gentle side as worthy of recognition. As long as he never recognized it in public. No, Burns' tenderness was a quality he reserved almost exclusively for Smithers. He sipped from his wine. "Excellent."

"I certainly hope so," said Smithers. "What's this bottle worth, again?"

"Oh...about twenty thousand." They both savored the wine, their eyes locking.

"You must really love your wine to spend that much on a bottle," he said, his eyes lowering shyly. "And you must really love me to want to share it with me."

"Actually, I bought it for a pittance during a trip to France in 1947." He took Smithers' hand in a reassuring manner. "So I stood to make a tidy sum if I'd sold it at auction. But it's not as though I'm throwing away my investment. I'm merely..." he grazed his fingertips against Smithers' stomach, "reinvesting it in you."

Smithers stifled tears of joy. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard." He put his arm around Burns' shoulders, and Burns reciprocated. They sipped wine as the sun began to set.

Once the sun had slipped just below the ocean horizon, Burns held him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him on the lips. "You're even better at kissing than Nellie Taft." He lowered his eyelids suggestively. "And that isn't all you surpass her in."

"Like cooking?"

Burns chortled. This time he was the one making the innuendo to an oblivious Smithers. "I meant our sexual congress."

"Oh! Of course," he said, laughing nervously. "You really think so?" Burns nodded. "I mean, I know you like what we do, but I never knew how I, uh...measured up."

"You are the finest I've had."

Smithers' heart fluttered. "And you're the finest I've had." He leaned in for a kiss, and they kissed delicately.

"I will make love to you again," he said, twiddling the cloth of Smithers' collar betwixt his fingers. "I just need some time."

"I'll be here whenever you're ready." As he finished off his glass of wine, he said, "Well, should we start heading back? It'll be dark before too long."

"No," he said, grabbing Smithers' wrist and staring off over the cliff. "No...let's stay awhile longer."

"Yes, dear." Smithers poured some more wine into his glass and smiled, then lifted his glass to Burns' lips and let him drink. "How did such a sweet man as you ever get such an awful reputation?"

"Well, to succeed in business, you have to be ruthless. The plebs conflate that with evil, so it behooves me to cultivate that impression, to live up to their corporate boogeyman so they properly fear me."

Smithers grinned, his shoulders raised up in giddy delight, enthralled by his eloquence, and gave him another sip of wine. "You are so wise, dear."

"Someday, when I'm gone, I want you to enjoy the fruits of my labor." He put his hand around Smithers' wrist. "Our labor."

"Please, don't talk that way! That won't be for many years to come."

"I should certainly hope so." He chuckled. "But still. I'm sure to go before you." He certainly hoped so. He was unwilling to countenance another Waylon Smithers dying in middle age while he was already well into old age. Although he seldom concerned himself with fairness, the death of such a young heroic man while the older selfish man's life was spared was all the proof he needed that the universe was morally bankrupt. _Or perhaps Waylon Jr.'s heart is so good it outweighs the loss of his father and my own mercenary ways._

The younger Waylon was indeed a good-hearted fellow. He felt a certain indefinable excitement whenever he was able to corrupt him. Like persuading nuns to participate in a pornographic film – to supersede the ethical objections of a deeply principled person is to reach the height of puissance. "You shall have our mansion, of course, and in addition, I'm leaving you with half a billion dollars." _Our mansion._ It still sounded strange to him. He had just added Smithers to the deed a couple weeks earlier.

"Monty, I can't tell you how touched I am," he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "But you don't have to leave me so much."

"I want to. I don't want you going hungry when I'm gone, now do I? I certainly don't want you to go gallivanting with Dick Cheney as your meal ticket."

"My interest in him was purely professional."

"I never said it wasn't."

"Well, it was." He sipped his wine. "No one could ever take your place. There simply isn't anyone else like you." He inhaled deeply near Burns' neck. "I don't want to think about life without you. I want to think about our life together."

"As do I. Smithers, fetch me some cubed cheese." Smithers pulled out a tray and used miniature tongs to move cubes of cheese from a basket to the tray, then stuck toothpicks in them. Burns scraped one off the toothpick with his front teeth and said, "I hope Lenny and Carl are handling the plant's affairs well enough."

"I'm sure they're doing a fine job." Smithers took some cheese for himself. "We were actually up to code on our last inspection, so they can't possibly screw things up that badly."

"I hope your coworkers aren't still bandying about brickbats about you for being my lover."

"They mostly keep quiet since you fired those first four men. But I know they're still talking behind my back. Since we announced our engagement, it's only cemented their idea that I only got promoted because I'm sleeping with you."

"I showed them your performance records. Does any among them seriously believe he holds a candle to you?"

"I don't think it matters whether they think they're better qualified. They _want_ to think they're better qualified."

"They're out of their gourds if they think they compare to you." He sipped some wine and ate a cheese cube. "There is no one else like you." He took Smithers' hand. "No one."

Smithers smiled. "This island is breathtakingly beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you."

"What do you find most beautiful about me?" he said, head turned down and eyes looking coyly up at him.

Smithers stroked his cheek. "Your eyes." He withdrew his hand, placing it on his knee, and said, "What about me?"

"Hm?"

"What do you find most beautiful about me?"

"Oh – your smile." Smithers blushed and smiled self-consciously. "Yes, that's the one." He held Smithers in his arms and buried his face in his chest, gently pushing him onto his back, spilling the wine remaining in Smithers' glass onto the satin blanket. Smithers wrapped his arms around him, and Burns scooted up so their eyes were level. They lay there staring into each other for a minute. _He's been at my side for the last twenty years. And now he is mine for life. I will never know life apart from him again._ Even when he'd laid Smithers off, they would still get together for drinks at least. The times he'd truly cast Smithers out of his life had proven to bring them both nothing but misery. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"With what?"

"With us abstaining."

"Of course, Monty. I love you."

"You don't just want me around to satisfy your lustful urges?"

"No! Not at all. How could you even ask me that?" As Burns opened his mouth to answer, Smithers cut him off. "Monty, I'm in love with you. All of you, inside and out, forever, no matter what."

"It _is_ our honeymoon. You don't expect me to...perform?"

"Obviously I'd rather we had sex, but...just lying here with you is my dream come true. And truth be told, you and your pleading eyes are positively adorable right now." Burns laid his hands on Smithers' nearest arm and squeezed as he nestled against him, eyes closing in the process. Smithers stroked his cheek. "So adorable."

Smithers was the only one he would ever let get away with calling him adorable. Or, for that matter, the only one he would let himself act adorably around. _Because I'm in love with him._ It still didn't sound right to him. He loved Smithers, to be sure. But _in love_?

There was no question Smithers was in love with him. Truly, deeply, honestly in love. He knew he could never match Smithers' devout lust. But then, who on Earth possibly could? And how could he truly be in love with someone he had regarded for so long as a lowly lickspittle? The stirrings of his heart, strong as they were, merely counterfeited love. So he feared.

"The stars are brilliant out here," said Smithers. He poured them two more glasses of wine. "Look, there's Pegasus," he said, tracing out the boxy constellation with his finger in the sky. "And there, to the right – that one's Perseus." Although the gallant mythological hero that was the constellation's namesake had succeeded in the impossible task of slaying Medusa by cutting her head off, her gaze had retained the power to turn anyone who met it into stone.

"Ah, yes. There's nothing more romantic than mythical decapitation." Smithers couldn't tell whether or not he was joking. "And that one is Taurus, isn't it?" said Burns, pointing to a group of stars above and to the right of Perseus. "The myth has it that Zeus assumed the form of the bull to seduce Europa."

"He was always having affairs. I don't know how Hera put up with him." They drank wine and discussed mythology, which led to regaling each other with college stories. Smithers took a large sip of wine and said, "Did I ever tell you about the time I slept with Mary Ridley?"

"You? With a woman?"

"Um, yeah. I was married once, remember? I was still trying to be straight back then."

"Oh, goody. Another protracted tale of woe from the Waylon Smithers Queer Anthology."

"No, no. This one's funny." He cleared his throat. "I was a virgin, and my frat brothers were teasing me about it. I tried making up a story, at first, but they kept asking how it was. So I said, 'Great!' but they kept pressing for details. They figured out I was lying, I guess because I made it sound too effortless and vague. Instead of making fun of me, though, they set out to get me laid.

"So, they set me up with Mary Ridley, a promiscuous woman from a nearby sorority, and I met her in her room. Well, as we were going at it I kept imagining she was you. Just as I was coming, I shouted out, 'Ohh, Mr. Burns!' and she screamed, 'What did you just say?' and I told her, 'I said...uh...your name.' But I couldn't remember her name! She was freaking out, and I was saying, 'I'm sorry, uh...lady, um, thanks.' I still couldn't remember her name until I was back in my own dorm.

"Then my frat brothers asked how it went. I tried to give them details, but I had been so lost in fantasy I really didn't remember how her boobs looked or anything. They still didn't believe me, after all that! And she was too embarrassed to confirm it, since she felt like it was saying something bad about her that I called her a 'mister'."

Burns laughed uproariously, picturing Smithers clumsily engaging in intercourse with a woman and then trying to convince his frat brothers that he'd enjoyed it. "You were a real geek. And always such a goody-two-shoes."

"Yeah, I've always been pretty strait-laced."

"As I've always been wicked."

"You're wickedly charming." He teasingly stroked Burns' neck just below the knot of his red neckerchief with his index finger. "You've certainly bewitched me." He moved his hand across Burns' neck to the back of his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm utterly enchanted." Burns' head sank into the crook of his arm, and in a few minutes, he fell asleep there. It wasn't long before Smithers fell asleep, too, his lips pressed against Burns' forehead.

"Wake up, wake up, wake _up_!" Burns impatiently bade him as he struggled to extricate himself from Smithers' limp yet heavy embrace.

"Hm?" he said, groggily opening his eyes.

"Hurry _up_! You'll miss the sunrise."

Smithers sat up and turned around to see the sun peeking out from behind some palm trees on the other end of the island. He leaned his head on Burns' shoulder, wrapping an arm around him to support their weight and keep him from tipping over. He kissed Burns' neck and sniffed the rugged outdoorsy scent of his sweat, then looked back toward the sun, placing his hand over Burns' brow to shield his eyes from the full brunt of the luminous radiation. "Why can't we spend every day this way?" he said, wistful. Then, he blinked and his eyes opened fully. He asked in earnest, "Why can't we?"

"You know I can't retire now," he said, putting a hand on Smithers' chest. "Not when there's so much money still to be made."

"I know," he said, sighing, "but a guy can dream."

"Well, no one has more experience in that department than you." He turned to look into Smithers' eyes and said, "What would you have done had you never met me?"

"I have no idea, sir." Formal address still crept into their conversations, as Smithers had grown so accustomed to it and they continued to use it while at the plant.

"You must have had some plans, some childhood dreams that never came to fruition. Or was it always your aspiration to be a billionaire's loyal lackey?"

"Well, I don't think this is exactly what you had in mind, but I always wanted to be...an intergalactic space pirate."

"What a whimsical notion! Such a departure from the humdrum of your daily routine."

"I do have my creative side. Remember the Malibu Stacy musical I wrote and performed in?"

"Oh, yes. Why on Earth would you invest so much time and effort into something that obviously wouldn't make money?"

"Because it's something I've always wanted to do. That's another childhood dream I had - to be a Broadway star. While we weren't a hit and the show never left Albuquerque, it was so thrilling just to see my dream come to life, and to see other people seeing it come to life."

"You're too much of a romantic for your own good. You clearly have the resourcefulness to have become prosperous on your own, yet you chose not to."

"I know it's hard for you to understand, but there are things I value more than money."

"That's ridiculous on the face of it. What things could you possibly value more than money?"

"Things like being with you."

"That's easy for you to say. By being with me, you've been able to vicariously experience the finer things that money can buy. If I'd been poor, your priorities would have been very different indeed."

"Are you kidding me? I loved you just as much when you lost your fortune and had to stay with me. In fact, it was kind of nice being able to provide for you for once."

"I didn't _have_ to stay with you. I wanted to."

"As flattered as I am, you didn't have much choice. It was either me, a retirement home, or an austere little studio apartment."

"I know you don't love me for my money." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know how you did it."

"Did what?"

"Loved me for so long."

"It can't be that hard for you to understand. You've been interested in me the last fifteen years, and you never breathed a word about it until yesterday."

"I had occasional fantasies about you. I did not love you. No, what you sustained was...something else entirely."

"I'll admit, it hasn't been easy loving you." He kissed his cheek. "But it was so worth it. All the heartache and hurting and hoping...none of it seems to matter anymore because when we kiss, I..." he gave a gentle squeeze to Burns' waist, removing any space remaining between them. "It's bliss."

"Now that we're wed, are you ever going to let go of me?"

"No," he said. "Never."


	6. It Takes Two

**Chapter 6**

 **It Takes Two**

The moment he stepped through the doors to Costington's, Smithers was waylaid by Mr. Costington, who eagerly shook his hands while stretching his lips into a wide, almost flirtatious smile. "Mr. Smithers, my dear, dear Mr. Smithers – or is it Mr. Burns now? All of us in the Costington's retail family are brimming with happiness that you two have finally –"

"Spare me the sales pitch. I invented that ingratiating smile." Costington's mouth twitched open, caught off guard by Smithers laying bare his motives. "And it's still Smithers."

"Of course, Mr. Smithers. Is there anything I can do to improve your shopping experience today?"

"Actually, there are a few kitchen appliances you could help me find."

"Certainly, anything."

Smithers pulled a small folded paper out of his pocket and read from it: "A salad dressing shaker, a strawberry slicer, a corn de-cobbber, and an egg cuber."

"Right away, sir," he said, leaving to fetch the items.

While Smithers stood there, he spotted Marge eyeing some curtains and approached her. "Marge! I haven't seen you since the wedding. How have you been?"

"Pretty good, pretty good. Except we have to live in a motel for a few weeks while they repair the house."

"Goodness, what happened to your house?"

"A satellite fell through the roof. Thank God we were at church."

"That's doing 'pretty good'?"

"For our family, I'm afraid so." She felt the fabric of some short pink and yellow curtains between her fingers. "Hmm...what do you think about these? Our motel room is kind of dreary, and I want something cheerful to shield my children from the sleaze outside."

"Forget about those curtains," he said, pushing them back against the rack.

"You don't like them? What about these?" she said, gesturing to some lime green and orange curtains.

"No, no, Marge. What I mean is, forget about staying in that motel. Come stay with Monty and me."

"Hm...are you sure he wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not."

That night...

"Um, honey? Remember when you said we should do something to thank the Simpsons for helping me out during my time of need?"

"That doesn't sound like me."

"Okay, I said it, but you agreed."

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, I invited them to stay here for a few weeks while their house is being repaired."

"Forget it. We're not running a hostel for wayward peasants!"

"But sweetie, these are my friends."

"And stop sugaring me up with your saccharine pet names. Why would you want to consort with the dregs of society, anyway?"

"They took me in when you abandoned me." Smithers sniffled involuntarily at the word "abandoned". Then, voice firm and authoritative, he said, "They're staying, and that's final."

"All right," he said, teeth together. "They can stay. But if they break even one thing, I'll toss them out like cold filet mignon."

Outside the door to the mansion that evening, Homer turned to the kids and pointed at Bart, then Lisa, then Maggie as he said, "No slingshots, no politics, no shooting Mr. Burns." He rang the doorbell.

Smithers, an oven mitt on one hand, answered the door. "Why, if it isn't our good friends the Simpsons! Come on in. Dinner is almost ready." He ushered them in. "Just set your suitcases by the Rodin. You can get them when I show you to your rooms after dinner."

Homer and Bart looked to each other in confusion. Marge said, "It's that one," pointing to a statue about as tall as she was (minus the hair height) of a nude woman standing, arms curled around her breasts as if discovering shame for the first time.

Smithers guided the Simpsons to the seats on one end of Burns' long dinner table, while Smithers and Burns sat on the other end.

"This dish is delish," said Marge, chuckling. "Thank you so much for everything, Waylon...Monty. It's very generous of you to welcome us into your home."

Burns cleared his throat. "Yes, well, when Smithers said you were going to stay here, I told him I couldn't be more delighted. Isn't that right, dear?" He jabbed playfully at Smithers' elbow.

Smithers chuckled. "That's right."

"So, how long exactly do you plan to stay?" said Burns.

"Well," Marge said, "the contractors said two to three weeks." After taking a few bites, she said, "We're so glad that you two have found happiness with each other. You make such an adorable couple."

Smithers chuckled nervously as he looked sideways to Burns, knowing he wouldn't appreciate the sentiment. "I wouldn't say 'adorable'. More like 'fierce'."

"Yes, fierce," said Burns. "We are the fiercest pair Springfield has ever known." He grinned malevolently, and Smithers grinned impishly, for he knew full well that Burns was oblivious to the gay connotation that word had taken on.

In a low whisper, he said, "Monty. You know that thing we discussed."

"I know, and you know what I said," he whispered back.

"And you know what I said."

"Nuff," he sighed. "Very well."

"Marge, how would you and Homer like to double date with us at the Gilded Truffle this Thursday night?"

"That sounds lovely, Waylon." She looked to the kids. "Mmm...what about the children?"

"Oh, we'll hire some people to watch them."

"I don't know, we've had trouble with babysitters before."

"We'll hire only the best."

"It's a date, then."

* * *

"I hope it was as good for you as it was for me," said Burns, leaning back against the headrest, his hands behind his head as he sighed in relief.

"Ooh, Monty, that was wonderful."

"I was apprehensive at first, but I'm glad we finally did it."

"It was worth the wait."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Burns said as he leaned over in his bed, his blanket falling and exposing his bare chest to the cool air as he curled his finger around a long blue lock, "my dear Marjorie."

Burns awoke with a start. He would've bolted upright had it not been for Smithers' sturdy arm wrapped securely around his shoulder and chest. He slowly dragged his pupils to face Smithers, still fast asleep, eyes shut and lips slack, dripping drool onto his shoulder. He extended his hand to Smithers' cheek, and as he did so, Smithers' lips momentarily tightened into a slight smile before loosening again as he slipped into a deeper slumber. It was so easy to make him happy.

 _I've made a terrible mistake. I want him to remain by my side, but I'm not in love with him._ He looked fretfully at Smithers' blissfully ignorant face. _But he can never know. It would crush him._

Smithers stirred and kissed his forehead. "What are you thinking, Monty?"

"Oh, so since we're married, you must know my every thought? I am not permitted to have private thoughts, is that it?"

Smithers' eyes widened in confusion. "What? No!" Yawning, he said, "I was just making conversation, dear," and reached for his glasses. Glasses on, he put his hand on Burns' shoulder and said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Haven't you learned by now? I know when you're lying to me," he said, stroking his shoulder.

"All right. It's not nothing," he said, sitting up and sighing. "It's...I'm so sorry, Waylon."

"You don't need to keep apologizing. I've forgiven you," he said, clasping his right hand around Burns' left. "Your love is all I need." He nuzzled Burns' head with his own. "Say it to me, Monty," he said, his voice soft and breathy.

"Say what?"

"Tell me you love me. I know you aren't into this mushy stuff, but I just can't get enough of you."

"I love you, Waylon."

Smithers kissed his cheek. "Say it again," he whispered, his mouth hovering over Burns'.

"I love you." Smithers kissed his lips. "I love you..."

Smithers backed away, still staring raptly into his eyes. "I will never get tired of hearing you say those words." He nudged his nose against Burns' chest. "I waited over two decades, longing to hear you say those words to me. Now that you have, I must say...nothing in the world could sound better."

"It's too early to listen to your drippy ramblings. My eyes are painfully dry. Remedy this situation posthaste."

"Right away, dear," said Smithers, jumping out of bed to retrieve a misting device, which he filled with Evian and brought back to mist Burns' eyes. "Yesterday, Marge was telling me about this antique vase fair this Saturday. We should go."

"I have enough antique vases to fill the Hindenburg. What profit is there in gawking at cheap wares when we have an extravagant collection right here?"

"I guess you're right. It would've been nice to do something as a couple, though."

"Well...I suppose it wouldn't harm anything if we made a brief excursion there."

Smithers grinned, his eyelids lowered amorously as gave Burns a quick, one-armed hug. "Thanks, dear."


	7. Fear of Lying

**Chapter 7**

 **Fear of Lying**

As Smithers fastened the cufflinks to Burns' shirt cuffs, he stole a glimpse of his distinguished countenance. Now wearing a burgundy suit with a matching vest and black tie that together accentuated his svelte physique, Burns maintained his neutral expression, one that most read as hostile, while he stared distantly ahead into the mirror in front of him. His hostility was dormant, ready to bubble to the surface given the slightest provocation, but if not provoked, he would behave remarkably warmly.

"How do I look?" said Burns as he looked apprehensively into his reflection.

Smithers placed his hands just below Burns' shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze as he leaned his face towards his and looked into the mirror. "You look amazing."

"You would say I looked amazing if I were draped in soiled rags and covered in pockmarks and soot."

"No, I wouldn't." He adjusted Burns' tie.

"Please! You wouldn't have the guts to tell me I look awful."

"You're wrong, and I'll prove it." He cleared his throat and stared into Burns' eyes via the mirror. "You look awful," he said matter-of-factly before lowering his eyes sensually. "Awful sexy." He chortled and kissed him briefly yet ardently. "God, I love being able to do that."

"Yes. Now hurry up and get dressed. The sooner this middle-class suburban dinner ritual ends, the better."

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen. We've gone out to dinner hundreds of times and you've never put up such a fuss."

"Dining with you is a different matter entirely."

"Why? I was firmly middle-class all my life before we married."

"Yes, but I enjoy your company. You were poor, but you weren't some uncultured slack-jawed boob lazily scraping together a living in between TV reruns and Youtube videos of cats."

He ran a comb through Burns' hair, making slight realignments. "I know the Simpsons aren't very refined, but they're good people. They were very kind to me when no one else was." Burns bristled at the last sentence, knowing full well that he had been part of the "no one else." The biggest part of the "no one else," in fact. "Consider being nice to them as a way to show you're sorry for how you treated me."

"Are you always going to throw that back at me in order to get your way?"

Chuckling, he ran his hand up and down Burns' shoulder a couple times. "As if anyone could _make_ you do what they want. No, anything you do, you do it because you want to."

"Quit running your mouth and get dressed already."

"Yes, dear." He disrobed and donned a purple suit with a yellow bow tie. "How do I look?"

"Fishing for compliments bespeaks a neediness that is hideously unattractive."

Smithers' face slackened with dejection. "I suppose it does." He pulled a lens wipe out of his jacket pocket and cleaned his glasses. "Let's go." They walked downstairs, holding hands the whole time until they reached the parlor and sat in adjoining chairs as they waited for Marge and Homer. Smithers put his hand on Burns' knee. "Come on. We'll have a great time."

"That's what you said about the dinner theater last week."

"How was I supposed to know they were going to make the audience participate? There wasn't anything about that in the brochure."

Marge walked in wearing a deep, indigo gown with a sheer sky blue layer around the skirt of it, her arm hooked with Homer's. Homer wore a black tuxedo with matching bow tie and cummerbund. "We're ready when you are," she said.

Smithers took Burns' hand in his and they left for his limo, Smithers helping Burns into the passenger side of the front before himself getting behind the wheel. Homer and Marge seated themselves in the back.

They walked through the doors and stood before the host stand. "Well, if it isn't my favorite couple," said the host. "And you must be the Simpsons. It's a pleasure to serve you this evening."

"Enough merrymaking; just show us to our table," said Burns as he planted the palm of his hand on the stand, the knuckle of his other hand pressed to his hip.

"Very well, sir," he said, leading them through the restaurant. As they followed him, a red-headed woman stood from her table and followed.

Maureen grabbed Burns' elbow, startling him and Smithers. "Monty, I need to tell you I'm sorry. I never would've made a pass at you had I known you were gay."

"I am not in any sense of that word," he said, roughly yanking his arm out of her hand.

Smithers placed his hands on Burns' elbow and shoulder, rubbing him soothingly while keeping his eyes trained on hers, his gaze fixed with "do not fuck with me" eyebrows. "Monty is mine! Go home, you well-heeled hussy!"

"I conjugate with one man and now the whole town thinks I'm a sexual invert."

"I was apologizing," said Maureen to Smithers, her teeth gritted as she clutched her handbag.

"Well, I'll have you know, I am no homosexual," said Burns. "Women still ignite my libido like a lit match sets an oil spill ablaze."

"Okay, chit-chat's over," said Smithers. "Now let's go eat."

Burns resisted Smithers' urgent nudging and said, "Waylon Smithers is the only man I've ever been smitten with."

Smithers blushed and kissed his cheek. "And while I've been attracted to many men, you're the only one I could ever be in love with."

"In fact, were it not for my marital vows, I would go to bed with you in an instant." He snapped his fingers.

"You don't say," said Maureen.

"We're going _now_ ," said Smithers, pulling him along. Marge and Homer followed, exchanging nervous, awkward glances. Their waiter seated Marge and Homer, while Smithers seated Burns and himself. The waiter brought out a couple bottles of wine they had called ahead for and took their orders before heading to the kitchen to relay them to the chef. Smithers leaned in toward Burns and said in a loud whisper, "Why did you have to tell her you're still attracted to her?"

"It's the truth," he said.

"Oh, yeah, telling the truth has always been a high priority for you," he said, arms crossed as he shot him a scolding look.

"Just because you're abnormal doesn't mean I have to pretend I am as well."

"I would prefer if you didn't call me abnormal, dear," he said, pouring Burns a glass of Merlot before filling his own glass.

"And I would prefer to have a trillion dollars. That doesn't make it so."

"Well, you're not exactly normal, either," he said with a smirk, giving the wine in his glass a little swish.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"You know exactly what I mean by that." He sipped his wine.

"I am not like you," he said. After a swiftly imbibed gulp of his own wine, he thrust the glass onto the table and said, "Get this straight, Waylon – I am not 'gay', 'queer', or whatever mot du jour you have for your aberrant inclinations."

Smithers tossed his napkin to the table. "You know, Monty, I'm getting sick of your homophobia. If you hate the idea of being mistaken for gay so much, then maybe you shouldn't have gotten a gay marriage."

"I married you because I love you. Now quit maundering about your foolish feelings."

"How can you love me yet hate what I am so much you can't tolerate the thought of people thinking you're like me?"

"I like you being that way. But it does not suit me."

"Like it or not, you're a little bit that way. And I think it suits you perfectly."

He planted his palms against the table and leaned forward in an accusatory fashion as he stood, saying, "Just what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I love you the way you are." He smiled as Burns looked bashfully to the floor and slowly sat back down. "Now, give me a kiss." Burns brought his head up just long enough to kiss the corner of Smithers' mouth before lowering his eyes in uncertain worry. Smithers rubbed Burns' thigh and sipped some wine. He enjoyed provoking him, now that he was confident that he wouldn't be cast out of his life for daring to challenge him. His feisty verve was decidedly a turn on for Smithers.

"So..." said Marge. "How did you enjoy your honeymoon?"

"We had a splendid time, for the most part," said Burns.

"It was perfect," said Smithers, pupils leaning toward Burns, a smile spreading on his lips. "Absolutely..." He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly back, inhaling slowly. "Perfect."

"Enjoy it while it lasts!" said Homer. "The married life seems like fun and games in the beginning, but before you know it, you're saddled with kids and mortgaging your house for the umpteenth time...and loving every minute!" he added as he noted the disapproving glint in Marge's eyes.

"That shan't happen to us," said Burns. "We have neither the ability to procreate nor the monetary hardship that would necessitate mortgaging our home."

"You know, Monty...there's always surrogacy."

"You would conceive a child, even at his age?" said Marge. "Don't you think that's a little unfair to the child?"

"Yeah," said Homer, "I mean, he could kick the bucket any day now."

"Maybe it is a bit selfish of me, but I'd love to raise his child."

"I don't know how you could even consider it. You of all people should know what it's like to grow up without a father when yours died while you were still in diapers," said Marge.

"I...guess I never thought about it in those terms."

"It's a ludicrous notion, anyway, Waylon. I won't play nursemaid to a mewling rug rat."

"Oh, come on. I know your heart would just melt holding your son or daughter. Besides, I'd handle the grunt work. You know that."

"Speaking of grunt work," said Burns, "How is your new vocation working out for you, Simpson?"

"It was going great until Monday."

"What happened on Monday?"

"He fired me."

"Whatever for?"

Sheepishly, he said, "I accidentally put Buzz Cola in the radiator tank and drank the motor oil."

Burns stared at him blankly. His eye began to twitch as for Smithers' sake he suppressed the desire to hurl scathing invective his way.

Smithers glanced warily at Burns and rushed in with, "That's an honest mistake; anyone could've made it."

"Yes, of course," said Burns, clearly unconvinced and giving a strained smile. "An honest mistake, indeed."

"I hope you find something good soon."

A devious glint in his eye, Burns said, "I know just the thing! Smithers is looking for a personal assistant of his own, and –"

"I am?"

"–And a strapping young go-getter such as yourself would make the ideal candidate. Wouldn't he, Smithers?"

Smithers' eyes went wide. "But sir, I – I hardly think Mr. Simpson would want a job as a lowly servant."

"How much would it pay?" Homer said.

Burns grinned and said, "How does six figures sound?" knowing full well what his answer would be.

"I'll take it!"

"You're hired!"

"Wait a minute, sir – Monty, may I speak with you in the bathroom?" said Smithers while he stood up, his chair scooting back as he did.

"No."

"Let me rephrase that – you're coming with me. Now."

Homer hooted. "I bet you said that a lot during your honeymoon." Smithers growled and led Burns to the restroom by his wrist. "Sounds like Smithers is excited to work with me again." Marge let out a wary "Mmm..."

As soon as Smithers shut the bathroom door, he said, "What were you thinking? Homer is a decent man, but he drives me insane. Working together again will ruin our friendship. How could you force me to be in close quarters with him?"

"The same way you forced me to share my home and my evening with him and his missus."

"This is completely different! They're only living with us for a few weeks, and the mansion is so big we hardly see them. You're talking about me spending almost every day with him for years."

"You are free to fire him for incompetence after a few weeks. I'm sure he will provide you ample justification to do so."

"I can't do that to him, and you know it. Not when we wouldn't be here now without him."

"I told you I was preparing to make an advance on you regardless of his meddling."

"But you were never actually going to do it, were you? You weren't going to make a move on me any more than I was going to make a move on you."

"You did make a move on me."

"Yes, but only because I was really, really drunk."

"Well, if that's how you feel, I won't make him your assistant."

"Thank you, dear."

"I'll restore his job at the plant. Where did he work there?"

"Sector 7-G, sir, but –"

"But what?"

"But that wouldn't solve the problem; he would still be working for me."

"All right, then. You're fired." Burns casually opened the door to leave the bathroom, but Smithers grabbed his wrist and yanked him back inside.

"What?"

"You may spend your afternoons tending to our home and devising romantic ways to greet me when you drive me home in the limousine, just like they print in those housekeeping magazines."

"Now, wait a minute. You know I'm more than happy to pamper you and keep up the castle, but I'm no Holly Housewife. Besides, I like working for you," he said, wrapping his hands around Burns' elbow and caressing him up to his shoulder. "You like me working for you, too, right?" He began massaging his shoulders.

"Well...yes, I do."

"And I wouldn't be able to give you a massage in the middle of the day if I'm just puttering around our mansion while you're at the office."

"That is true."

"And I wouldn't be able to cater to any of your _other_ needs during the work day, now would I?"

"No, I suppose you...wouldn't." His shoulders slunk down as he moaned in pleasure. "No, I'm not going to fire you. You're...indispensable."

"Good. I'm glad we agree," said Smithers, abruptly ending the massage. Burns' jaw fell as he realized Smithers had been manipulating him with his soothing touch. "Now, what are we going to do about Homer?"

Burns narrowed his eyelids in smug satisfaction. "Oh, he'll be at his old post in 7-G."

"But sir, I –"

"That's my decision. If you can't handle it, you are free to quit."

Smithers grumbled, for he knew that Monty knew full well he wouldn't quit. "All right. You win. I worked with the man for ten years; how bad could it be?" Of course, because he had worked with Homer for ten years, he knew exactly how bad it could be.

When they returned to their table, they informed Homer that he would not in fact be Smithers' personal assistant, but that he would return to his old job at Sector 7-G. "Woo-hoo!" he said. "Wait – does it still pay a six figure salary?"

"No," said Burns. "Actually, you'll be returning at a pay cut."

"D'oh!"

"Yes, d'oh indeed. Oh, violin man!" he said, throwing an arm into the air and waving a $100 bill in a passing violinist's face. "Gather the band and get ready to play...eh, Smithers, what song would you like to hear?"

"Lay All Your Love On Me, by Abba."

He slapped the bill in the violinist's hand. "Lay All Your Love on Me, it is." The violinist approached the other musicians, and they began to play the tune, vocalists jumping in following the intro. Smithers took Burns' hand and moved his middle and index fingers slightly back and forth over the side of his pinky. He stared, captivated, into Burns' eyes, then draped an arm around his back, pulling him closer until their chairs touched. He tilted his head and moved in for a kiss. At first, Burns turned his head away, so Smithers lifted his other hand off Burns' and cradled Burns' cheek in the palm of his hand as he kissed him fervidly. Burns succumbed to feeling and allowed himself unfettered enjoyment of the moment, returning the kiss with utmost sincerity. They continued kissing for most of the duration of the song.

Once the song and their kissing had ended, Smithers still gazed amorously into Burns' eyes, his right hand trailing down Burns' neck while his left stroked Burns' thigh. As he did so, he caught Marge and Homer's awkward unease and disengaged himself. "I'm sorry. I'm sure the last thing you want to see is us sucking face."

"You got that right. Eww!" said Homer.

"Homer..." Marge nagged. "Don't mind him, Waylon. We completely support your unconventional way of life."

Smithers snorted amusedly at her concerted effort to be accepting and supportive. "Please, this has nothing to do with us being a gay couple. It's rude for anyone to ignore dinner guests like that."

"I am _not_ gay." He added again, "In any sense of the word."

"I know _you_ aren't gay, sweetheart, but when we kiss, we're sharing a gay kiss. When we make love, we're having gay sex."

Burns' cheeks reddened and his eye squinted in mortified disgust. "Shh! People might hear you."

"Come on, honey, this isn't the Victorian era anymore. Everyone in Springfield knows we've had sex. It's not like I'm giving out any details."

"That doesn't mean you should flaunt it. Too many people already think I'm homosexual, and I don't need you reminding them we have that kind of relationship."

Smithers flashed him a look of hurt before furrowing his brow in anger. "So when you promised you'd never try to hide our love again, that was just a lie? Is our marriage predicated on a lie, Monty?" Burns looked vaguely guilty. Smithers turned to face him more directly, his arm pressed flat on the table as he shot Burns an accusatory look and spoke in a hushed yet determined voice, "Is that why you won't make love to me anymore? Well, is it?"

"Smithers..."

"I want the truth."

"Not now."

"Yes, now."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"It was all a lie."

Smithers looked blankly at him, dumbfounded. "W-what was all a lie?"

"Us. This is not the life I want."

Smithers struggled to keep breathing and avoid crying. Then, he took Burns' hands in his, looked sweetly into his eyes, and said, "I know you're struggling with accepting your bisexuality. I completely understand. It took me a long time to accept myself, too."

He wrested his hands away. "No, Waylon. It's much worse than that."

"What is it, then?" His question met silence. He spoke in a soft, pleading voice: "My love?"

"I want to make love to you. But I fear I can never truly love you."

Smithers stopped breathing, and his heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds. "M-Monty..." he gasped, knees shaking as he struggled to keep from falling as he staggered back into his chair and leaned over, his forehead pressed against the edge of the table as he stared into his lap. Tears dripped out of either eye simultaneously as he blinked. "Monty..."

"You've been my servant for so long. I will always see you as my thrall." He kissed Smithers' cheek, then brushed the back of his hand. "You deserve someone who can be in love with you."

"But I couldn't be in love with him. Lord knows I've tried to fall in love with another man. No, Monty, if you leave me, you leave me on my own. I told you, there is no one like you."

"I'm not asking you to find another like me. I'm telling you to find someone better."

"Maybe I don't want 'better'. It may shock you to hear me admit it, but I'm aware you aren't perfect. You are selfish, for one thing, except frustratingly when it comes to our relationship. If that isn't proof enough for you that you do love me, I don't know what it would take to convince you."

"Maybe it is love. I'm not well-acquainted with the concept. But whatever it is, it's forged from your abasement. And for whatever reason, I've begun to feel guilty because that's precisely what turns me on about you."

"Oh, Monty. I know the reason."

"What's your theory?"

"Not a theory. It's a fact: you've fallen in love with me." Burns looked at him as though he'd just been told he had been nominated Socialist of the Year. "Besides, acting as your subordinate turns me on. That's been our relationship for decades; it's not surprising we fetishize those roles."

"Smithers..." he said in a feeble plea.

Without having to hear another word, Smithers hugged him. "I'll always love you, dear. You've already given me more than I ever dreamed would be possible. As long as I'm with you, as long as you love me, I'll be the happiest man alive. And you do love me. And that will always be enough for me."

Burns smiled like a gleeful schoolboy and stroked Smithers' nose with the tip of his index finger. "You always know just the thing to say."

He kissed Burns' cheek. "I know it feels weird being public about our love. It took me decades to fully come out, and for years I've felt deeply uncomfortable acknowledging my orientation. And I know it's harder for you, having grown up in the times you did, when love between men was even more taboo than it was in my youth, and I know you've spent the last century thinking you were one of the 'normal' ones, and I know it's hard to have to rethink who you are. But it gets easier over time, Monty. And until it does, I'll be right here for you any time you need me." He stroked Burns' cheek. "Give me a hug, dear." Burns hugged Smithers, and he melted in his arms. "Oh, Monty..." He patted Burns' back gently and eased out of their hug, returning to his own seat.

Burns leaned forward over the table, taking Marge's left and Homer's right hand into his own. "I want to thank you for protecting my treasure while I was preoccupied with being a self-pitying ass."

"Treasure?" said Homer in consternation. "I don't remember any treasure."

Marge spoke quietly into Homer's ear, "I think he means Waylon."

"He does?" said Smithers. "You do, don't you, dear?" he said, halfway between desperately seeking reassurance and self-satisfied teasing. "So you've finally settled on a pet name for me?"

"Yes. It seemed apropos, given that there is nothing I value more than my treasure." His rare display of romanticism elicited an elated smile from Smithers, who proceeded to tenderly kiss the corner of his mouth.

"And there is nothing I hold so dear as you, my dear."

"I already knew that. You don't have to keep saying it."

"I love saying it, though. Don't you love hearing me say it?"

"No. It's cloying and repetitive."

"I love hearing you say it."

They stared into each other's eyes tensely for a moment. Burns sighed in defeat, then smiled sweetly and took Smithers' hands in his. "I love you, my treasure."

Smithers sniffled. "I love you, too, my dear."

As they finished dinner, the waiter presented them four checks. "Huh?" said Homer. "You cheapskates are making us pay?"

"Oh, no, it must just be a mistake. Dinner is on us, of course," he said, reaching into his jacket for his checkbook.

Mr. Burns opened his bill and inside, just behind the receipt, was a piece of paper with "M.T. - Call me!" and a phone number following immediately. "What is this? It's some kind of –" he said, about to pull out the paper when he saw Maureen wave from across the restaurant behind Smithers and blow him a kiss.

"Some kind of what?" asked Smithers, still in a mellow lovestruck trance.

"It's – uh, oh, never mind! Silly me! I thought there was an error in the tabulation of my bill, but on closer inspection, it accurately reflects what I ordered. Yes...that's plausible."

"Oh, that's good. Let me have yours so I can write it as one check."

"No need; I'll write out the check myself! Yes, that's what I shall do!"

"No, Monty, I _insist_ ," he said, extending his hand for the bill folder.

He tentatively extended his arm to hand it over, then dropped it onto the floor. He bent over and rushed to scoop it up into his hands, crumpling up the paper with Maureen's phone number and surreptitiously stuffing it into his pants pocket as he gave the bill to Smithers, who scrutinized the bill before writing out the check. They walked out of the restaurant arm-in-arm, followed by Homer and Marge, who walked in a similar fashion.


	8. The Very Wrath of Love

**Chapter 8**

 **The Very Wrath of Love**

Once they had returned to their mansion and bidden the Simpsons good night, Smithers hung up their coats, then led them to their bedroom, where he first loosened his own bow tie, then unraveled Burns' tie. "We had a good time tonight, didn't we?" Burns grunted in a begrudging affirmative as Smithers began unbuttoning his shirt, fingertips gliding over his dry, wrinkled skin as each button popped loose. "I could tell you were enjoying yourself." As he undid the last button, he kissed the center of his chest, then kissed every inch up to his neck as he laid him back against their bed. "You are so beautiful," he said before pressing his lips against his neck again, this time kissing him wetly. "Oh, Monty...it's Thursday night," he said, wiggling his toes against Burns' foot.

Burns retreated hastily to the far side of the bed. "Not tonight."

Smithers tightened his lips. "So, you'd go to bed with Maureen in an instant, but you won't make love to me."

"I told you, I'm reluctant to betray your father's trust."

"Would you listen to yourself? You know how much my mother disapproves of us being together, and I love my mother. But you know what? Fuck her! And I'm sure I would've loved my father, but fuck them!"

"Now you sound like an impudent child, and I do not engage in sexual liaisons with children."

"Oh, go ahead, make more flimsy excuses. Treat me like I'm a child, when if anything, you're the childish one!"

"I've known you your entire life, Waylon. I am wracked with contrition over the concern that I might have taken advantage of you."

"That's absurd. You never once reciprocated my advances until this year."

"Just because we didn't have sex doesn't mean I was above using sex to manipulate you. On some level, I was aware of what you wanted from me, and I used that to make you comply with my desires."

"So you manipulated me. So fucking what? That's not news. What's new is you feeling guilt over it. You never feel guilt over anything!"

"That's because I never had anyone worth feeling guilt over. But now..."

"But now you love me."

"Yes. Yes, I do love you."

"Do you want to make love to me?"

He gave a conflicted grunt, then looked sharply into his eyes. "No. I don't."

"So you don't find me attractive anymore?" Smithers said, his head down.

"I was attracted to you as my underling. But of late...you bore me."

Sniffing back a tear, he maintained an affectionate expression as he ran his hand across Burns' shoulder and said, "Okay. So we can fix this. We can role play, and you can order me around, and – and punish me," he said, smiling in delight at the thought.

"Confound it! Don't you see? I don't want to use you as a thing for my gratification. Doing so would make me feel dirtier than a French postcard!"

Brows furrowed, he said, "So, let me get this straight – you don't want me as your equal, and you don't want me as your subordinate. Pssht," he said derisively and, voice dripping with sarcasm, said, "So, what, you want me to be your superior?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then what the hell do you want from me?"

"Shut up and get some shut eye," he said, turning away and pulling the covers over his shoulder.

"All righty, then," said Smithers, turning away. "Goodnight, Mr. Burns," he said in a perfunctory fashion, his lips pressed into his pillow.

Burns awoke to an empty bed. He glanced at his alarm clock. 6 a.m. _Dear Smithers is usually here with my breakfast by now. Where the devil is he, anyway?_ He waited, clutching his blanket around his body to fend off the cold. When Smithers failed to materialize within the following twenty minutes, he rang the bell he kept at his bedside. "SMITHERS!" he cried, not in anger but in consternation.

Shortly thereafter, Smithers entered the room, swathed in a soiled apron. "Yes, dear?"

"Why is breakfast taking you so long?"

"I'm sorry, Monty. Marge and I were talking about how we like to make breakfast special for our husbands, and I got distracted."

Burns looked down slightly. He hadn't considered before that Smithers put thought into making something as mundane as breakfast special to him. But it was clear that he always had – whether alphabetizing his meal or writing his name in pancake syrup, Smithers frequently added a little personalized touch beyond that required for doing his job exceptionally well.

In fact, lately, Burns wasn't very clear on what Smithers' job actually was anymore. Cooking and laundering for him had been part of his job. Now, they were simply his duties as... _What would one call a male housewife? A house-husband?_ he mused. And why was it necessary to employ him at all? Smithers had millions of dollars at his disposal now, so what was a hundred grand a year but a paltry allowance? He brushed the tips of his fingers against the back of Smithers' hand. "Waylon." Smithers warmed at hearing his name and sat at the edge of the bed, taking Burns' hand in his. "I don't want you working for me anymore."

Smithers' face fell. "I thought you liked me working for you."

"I wouldn't have employed you for twenty-odd years if I didn't."

"Then why do you want me to quit? I told you, I don't want to hang around here all day while you're at the plant."

"If I keep paying you to look after me, it's as if I'm paying you to be my spouse. And there's no dignity for you in being a kept man."

"You know I would be with you even if you were destitute. Besides, I do plenty of work at the plant that has nothing to do with our relationship."

"That's true, I suppose."

"So...have you given it any thought?"

"Have I given _what_ any thought?"

"You know...what I can do to spice things up."

"Oh. That," he said, looking away. "I don't know what I want from you."

"We can still have fun trying to figure it out," he said, running his hand over Burns' thigh. "I've thought of a few things we can try. See if they get your motor running. If they don't, we'll just try something else, and if they do...we'll have a spectacular night together."

"That sounds...worth a try," he said, smiling up at him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh! Well, I...promise you won't laugh."

"Ooh, this should be good."

"I want to feed you. And watch you eat."

"That isn't sex; that's dinner."

"I mean that I want to feed you sensually. And lick off anything that spills."

"That sounds...splendid."

"Not excellent?"

"We'll see," he fiddled with the hem of Smithers' arm sleeve, "the minute you get back from the convention." he said, the amorous glimmer in his eyes yielding to yawning. "Now fetch me my coffee."

"It's a date," he said, leaving the room, but not before peeking his head back in through the doorframe and flashing him a parting smile. When he came back with the coffee, he told him breakfast was ready. He took Burns' hand in his and helped him stand up out of bed. They walked down the stairs hand in hand as Smithers guided him to the breakfast nook and pulled out a chair for him. He laid out a plate with a poached egg on a slice of toast with a small bowl of oatmeal with blueberries and brown sugar and set the coffee mug on the table.

"It took you so long to make this?" Right after he spoke, Burns noticed that the brown sugar was arranged in the shape of his face.

"Sorry, dear," he said, taking it in stride and plating some eggs for himself and setting them beside his glass of orange juice. "Like I said, Marge and I were exchanging ideas about how to make our husbands feel special."

Husband. The word still felt strange to him, applied to himself as well as to Smithers. It would have been strange enough to think of himself as husband to a woman, but to a man...but to _Smithers_... Smithers had always been the nice boy he knew, the fine young man who fetched his mail, his strapping young associate who aided him, his guy Friday, his henchman – it was then he realized that "henchman" sounded similar to "husband." As much as he loved Smithers, he wished dearly that they could have kept their love quiet. Where Smithers delighted in their openness, Burns resented it for laying his vulnerabilities bare.

Smithers had already eaten most of one egg, while Burns had only gotten around to a small bite. "Anything wrong, dear?" said Smithers. "I'll make some more eggs if yours didn't turn out well."

"The eggs are fine."

"Oh, good. Is anything else wrong?"

 _Yes. Yes, I'm the laughingstock of this town because I can't resist your captivating eyes._ "No, Waylon. I am fine."

"You don't sound fine." He furrowed his brows in concentration, then looked up and said, "Did my tossing and turning keep you up last night again?"

"No, now shut up and eat your breakfast," he said, taking a bite of toast to emphasize his point. Still holding the toast in his hand, he waved it nonchalantly as he turned to Marge and said, "So, Marjorie...you are looking lovely this morning."

"Mm...thank you, Monty. You..." she struggled to come up with a compliment, "have a lovely home. We cannot thank you enough for letting us stay here."

"Yes, well, it's not every day an angel graces our doorstep." He interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on the intersection, leaning inwards.

Smithers and Marge looked to each other and simultaneously gave an uneasy, "Mm..."

Burns sipped his coffee and began to eat at a quickened pace. "So, have you found ways to amuse yourself in this dusty old place?"

"Well, Lisa wrote poetry in the garden, but we've mostly just watched television."

"Television? Is that all? Why, my dear, you should join us for a rousing tennis match this Saturday!"

"That sounds nice. Waylon was going to take us to the doll museum this Saturday, so maybe after that we can play some tennis."

"Oh," Homer said in a drawn-out whine, "a doll museum?" He walked into the breakfast nook. "That sounds _so_ boring!"

Burns looked to Smithers and said, "You made plans with them? Without consulting me?"

"I didn't think you'd want to go."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Smithers gave an open-mouthed smile. "I'd love you to join us! There's an exhibit on Victorian mourning dolls I think you'll –"

"Oh, good heavens, no, I don't want to actually _go_. It sounds dreadfully boring. I just wanted you to ask me."

Disappointed, yet pleased that Burns was interested enough to manipulate him, Smithers said, "Oh. Well, no matter. The real fun starts when I get back." He caressed Burns' thigh.

"Ew," said Homer. "I thought you said last night you weren't doing it."

Burns looked miffed at Smithers. "You just had to go and tell them that, didn't you?"

Smithers crossed his arms. "I would think you'd be thrilled for everyone to know _that_ detail of our lives. You act so ashamed to love me sometimes."

"And why shouldn't I be? If it hadn't been for your bumbling, we never would've had to tell anyone!"

"You would rather we stayed in the closet, having to hide from our employees and the world, than to admit to another person that you loved me?"

"Yes. And?"

"Into the bedroom. Now."

"I am not in the mood."

"Not for _that_. I mean to discuss this in privacy."

"Oh. Very well."

Once in their bedroom, Smithers put his hands on Burns' shoulders and sighed. "I hope you can see why that hurt me. Do you?"

"No, I do not. Our kind of love is obviously objectionable to others, so it would have been prudent to keep it hush hush. I don't see how you can possibly deny that."

"I know more than anyone else how soul-crushing it is to deny your love for another."

"Perhaps if I had a soul, I would give a damn."

"You do have a soul, Monty...I wouldn't love you if you didn't."

"Even if you're right, the public's appraisal would still damn my love."

"They damn my love for you, too, but I'm still proud to call you mine. Take pride in our love. It's the noblest thing in our lives."

"If it's so noble, then why did you hide it from me for over twenty years?"

"I was afraid of losing you."

"And I'm afraid of losing my dominion over Springfield's denizens."

"And I'll do everything in my power to ensure you continue to influence the rest of Springfield as much as you influence me."

"You could've done that sitting at my feet in our office. No one would've had to know about our liaisons, and I would've been perfectly content. But you _had_ to have the big wedding –"

" _You_ proposed to _me_."

"That's only because everyone knew we had engaged each other sexually, and I was compelled to make an honest man of you."

Smithers raised a brow as the other narrowed in bewilderment. He shut his eyes and looked away, saying quietly, "Take that back."

"I have said nothing wrong."

He looked into Burns' eyes with fire in his own. "Take it back, Monty."

"I take back noth–"

"I said, 'Take it back!'" His lower lip quivered, his hands shook, his heart palpitated, and he pulled Burns in by his shoulders and kissed him passionately. "That is such bullshit and you know it. Yeah, I kissed you first. But you were the one who asked me to suck you off that first night we spent together. You were the one who suggested we make love in the Cozy Cottage. You were the one who seduced me in your office, not once but twice. And _you_ were the one who proposed to me. I may have loved you first, but you were the one who romanced _me_." Anger drained out of his face, replaced with a weary droop. "Tell me. Do you want to be married to me? Or is this all some kind of cruel joke?"

"No."

"No, _what_?"

"I...don't know," he said, sitting on their bed in sorrowful, thoughtful reflection. "Perhaps you should have remained as my assistant and nothing more."

Smithers' eyes widened in fear, and he rushed to sit down on the bed, both to be closer to Burns and to ensure he didn't fall from losing his balance. "Monty...I know it's been rough, but I also know we can make this work."

"Work is for the office, Smithers, not for the bedroom. Speaking of which, we don't have time for this blathering about our relationship. The plant won't run itself."

"How dare you say I'm blathering? When you've just said – this is my heart, Monty; when I gave it to you, I trusted you to take care of it."

"We'll talk about this later."

"Yes. Later," he said, looking down to his feet. They left their room, Smithers combing Burns' hair and picking lint off Burns' suit as they headed for the door. "Homer! Are you and the kids ready yet?"

Homer approached, Bart and Lisa following at a brisk clip, Lisa eager to get to school to present her book report, and Bart eager to get to school to bask in the cachet of arriving in a limousine once again. "Yes."

"Okay, then, let's go."

"Bye, Homie!" said Marge, waving. "Have fun at school, kids!"

Smithers drove to Springfield Elementary first, letting the children out before proceeding to the nuclear power plant. After an uneventful drive, Smithers pulled into Burns' space and sat behind the wheel as Homer and Mr. Burns left the vehicle.

"Hey, Mr. Smithers! Aren't you coming out of the car?" said Homer.

Smithers sat behind the wheel, his gaze fixed forward. "Go to your post, Simpson. Monty and I have something to discuss."

"Whuh-oh," said Homer teasingly to Burns. "Looks like somebody's in trouble."

Burns snarled at him, and Homer shrieked and ran away. Burns sat back inside the passenger seat and closed the door. "When I said, 'later,' I didn't mean now."

"I need to know you believe in us."

"You know I want to."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"For one thing, ever since I began screwing you, you've become more and more of a needy, overbearing shrew! I can't get a minute's peace without you whining about our relationship."

"Whining? That's what you call it? So I'm wrong to want to be desired? I'm wrong to want you more than anything in the world, to want you like I've wanted you for the entirety of my adult life. I'm wrong to be worried when you all but say our marriage was a mistake, I'm wrong to feel insecure about that, and I'm wrong to expect you to respect me and hold you accountable for your promises. If I'm wrong about all that, then maybe you're right about us after all. Maybe love isn't enough."

"Waylon..." He put his hand on Smithers' shoulder. "Whatever happens, know that I do love you."

Smithers' lips quavered. He laid his hand on top of Burns' wrist. "Don't leave me, Monty. I can't lose you. You're all I have in this world."

Burns gave him a look of pity and kissed his cheek just below his eye. "I need to think about things." He left the car, and Smithers rested his forehead against the top of the wheel. "Smithers?" He turned his head back. "Now, don't tarry; we have a busy day ahead of us."

Forehead still pressed against the steering wheel, Smithers mumbled, "I have to go home. I'm sick."

"What? You've never called in sick a day in your life. Why, when you came down with pneumonia, I had to summon half a dozen security guards to cart you off in an ambulance just to get you off the property." Burns extended the back of his hand to Smithers' forehead. "You don't seem to be running a fever."

"It's not that kind of sick."

He finally caught Smithers' drift. "Oh. Well, I hope you feel better soon."

"I hope so, too."

Burns closed the door and proceeded to the plant entrance, stopping periodically to look back at Smithers sitting in their limo, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. It wasn't until he had settled into his office chair with his coffee that he saw Smithers drive away.


	9. The Fume of Sighs

**Chapter 9**

 **The Fume of Sighs**

When Smithers opened the mansion door, Marge jumped a bit and turned swiftly around, dropping the feather duster in her hand. "Oh, it's only you," she said, splaying her fingers across her chest in relief. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"Oh..." He leaned back against the door as he closed it, tilting his head back against it as he clenched his eyes shut. "Yes," he said in something halfway between a hiccup and a sniffle. "Very wrong."

"Oh, dear, what is it?"

"Mr. Burns doesn't want to be married to me!" He put his arms around her shoulders and fell against her, crying.

Marge gasped. "Oh, my, are you sure?"

"He...he said he's not sure. But why else would he rebuff me all these times? Why else would he have turned so cold..." Seeing her avert her gaze with a pursed lip, he said, "I know, to you he seems cold all the time, but with me...oh, he has this lovely, radiant warmth, and when he's tender, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I just haven't seen much of it lately." He walked over to the wine cellar and poured himself a glass of Merlot.

"I think he does love you. He just isn't very good at showing it."

"I know he loves me. But he's so damn stubborn; he doesn't want to admit that he's bisexual." He sipped his wine. "And it's kind of hard to have sex with a man while you're denying you find men sexually attractive."

"Isn't it a little early to be drinking?"

"Isn't it a little early to be sticking your nose into other people's business?" He took another sip. "Sorry for snapping. This whole situation with Monty has me tense." He rubbed his temples. "You want anything to drink?"

"Oh, I couldn't –"

"I make a mean Long Island Iced Tea."

"Hm...I think I'll take you up on that offer."

Smithers assembled various bottles of liquor and a fresh lemon and spoke as he measured out the ingredients. "He says I'm the only man he's ever wanted. But that is such BS. You know, I've noticed him checking men out before. A decade ago, even. But I always thought I was deluding myself, seeing what I wanted to see." He finished up her drink and gave it to her as he sat at the kitchen table with her.

"Maybe once he sees how accepting people are of you, he'll realize he has nothing to fear."

"That's the thing. In the circles we run in, people _aren't_ accepting of me. They tolerate me, at best."

"I wouldn't be friends with people who would treat Homer like that. Maybe he just needs to get new friends."

"That's easier for you to say. You're freer to choose your social group. We have little choice but to hobnob with the wealthy elite, as so many important business deals are made through such connections."

"Well, you can still meet with your high-society snobs for business but get a new set of friends for socializing with."

"I'd like to. Monty's not very social, though. If he spent the rest of his life interacting with no one but me, I think he'd be all right with that. Hell, I'd be all right with that." He took a long sip of his wine. "I don't understand, I do everything I can to make myself attractive for him. I've started working out more, I wear that cologne he loves, I had my teeth whitened, I –"

"Are you sure he _is_ bi? Maybe he was just experimenting with you and wants to be straight again." She saw the devastation in Smithers' eyes as he considered the possibility. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, Waylon, it's probably not that."

"It couldn't be, he – you should see the hungry look he gets in his eyes when we're about to make love. The look he used to get..."

"I'm sure he still finds you attractive. You said he's in denial about liking men, right? That must be it."

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure." He took a swig of wine. "Have I told you about the day he offered me my internship?" Marge shook her head, "no." "I was finishing up my sophomore year of college, and my parents kicked me out after my mom caught me with Morris."

"What did she catch you doing? Stealing?"

Smithers chuckled. "No, we were having sex." Marge blushed. "An awkward situation for any parent seeing their child like that, but since it was a man... Anyway, so we moved into an apartment, pretending we were just college friends on a budget. He had just graduated with a degree in art history, so he got a steady but poorly paying job curating at a museum. He got me a janitorial job at the same museum, but even so, between my tuition, his loan repayment, and rent, we were barely getting by. There was no way I could afford the next semester, and my parents refused to pay for it as long as I was with Morris, so I was about to drop out.

"Then one day, I'm dusting and in walks none other than Mr. Burns. I hadn't seen him for a couple of years since I worked for him as a summer job when I was a teenager. He greeted me, and I couldn't help but notice how ravishing he looked. We admired some statues together – they were handsome male figures, and he commented on how handsome they were. I think that was the first time – the first time I had hope he might return my feelings. Then he offered me my internship and told me if I accepted, he'd pay for my college. But what's more...

"What's more, he made me feel...normal. In high school, I had confided in him about, well, what he called 'schoolboy indiscretions' and he admitted to some himself while he was at an all-boys' school. And he told me it was perfectly normal – that I was perfectly normal. Of course, that was under the assumption I would grow out of it, as he figured he had, but still – all my life, people told me it was a sin, a sickness, freakish, disgusting, wrong. He was the first person who made me feel like I was just a regular guy. A little different, but as acceptable as any other man.

"So when he started to act as if us being lovers is shameful, it really wounded me. It makes me think all those times he affirmed my manhood, that it was all – a fraud. I understood completely why he wanted to hide it, but now that everyone knows, I never would've expected him to act like I'm his dirty laundry."

"You need to tell him all this. He's just projecting his insecurities onto you so he doesn't have to deal with his own truth."

"Thank you, Marge. I'm sure that's it." He finished his glass of wine and got up to refill it. "I just really hope we can patch things up in the next couple weeks. If our marriage is still on the rocks, I'll have to cancel my plans to attend Stacy-Con. This year they're going to have a special panel featuring different styles of Stacy's dollhouses – Victorian, futuristic, high-rise apartment, classic dream house... I wish Monty would come with me, but he'd be bored to death."

"Trust me, it's better he doesn't go. Whenever Homer comes with me to something he hates, he either makes a scene or falls asleep."

"Oh, tell me about it. When we went to the dinner theater, they asked us to participate in the show – just give yourself a fake name and profession, anything you want, could be Scooby Doo the stamp collector for all they care, so the actors – the show was a murder mystery, and they would make up which one of the diners committed the murder and give them a special dessert – so they could use the information to speculate on your motive for committing the 'murder'.

"Well, they're going around asking everybody, and when they get to Monty, he says, 'I'm paying _you_ to entertain _me_ ; if I wanted to entertain myself I would do so in my play room at my fabulous mansion.' And he walked out, refusing to pay for the meal! I was mortified and slipped them a couple of twenties when Monty wasn't looking." Smithers looked into his glass and smiled as half a muted giggle escaped his lips. "Isn't it funny? I spent decades wanting nothing more than to be physically intimate with him. But now that we're married, it's the little things like this I treasure most."

* * *

Mr. Burns sat in his office chair and twiddled the fingers of one of his hands against his desktop in boredom. His eyes drifted to his framed photograph of him and Smithers, arms around each other's backs, smiling open-mouthed smiles into the camera. They had been so happy before their marriage. Before their marriage, they were just having some fun together – they weren't saddled by the imperatives of their marital union.

He loved the man, but surely no man could have swept him up in that dizzy, invigorating pandemonium known as being in love. The very concept gave him a conniption to contemplate. He had known deep friendship with a select few men in his century of living, and surely his bond with Smithers extended no deeper.

Smithers could sate him, true, but surely Smithers, with his powerful shoulders, narrow hips, well-defined jaw, his deep, rumbling voice, and the fine stubble he'd feel scratch against his chin when they kissed before leaving the plant for the day...surely none of that aroused him. The very idea! Why, Smithers was – was a mere tool for his gratification. He wanted the young man to lick his body for the same reason he wanted him to lick his spittle – to have someone subservient to him in every way imaginable.

And yet, he was stricken with pangs of guilt when he thought of his lover groveling at his feet, supplicating him for scraps of affection. He had made his assistant his whore, and he'd made himself into a dirty old man who seduced his young and vulnerable employee – his late best friend's boy, his pride and his joy. What kind of twisted pervert would be aroused by a man he'd held as a baby?

He reminisced about Waylon Sr. chatting in that very office with him fifty years earlier.

" _Again, I implore you. Hattie and I would love to see you at our wedding this Saturday. Well,_ I _would."_

" _No, my dear Smithers, I'm afraid I can't make it. I have no shortage of work to do with the audit coming up."_

 _Smithers sidled up to his desk and sat on the edge. "Not anymore. I stayed up all night finishing the paperwork." He leaned back slightly, looking wistfully upward. "Come on, Monty. Why don't you want to go?"_

" _Who said I didn't want to go? I told you, I'm too busy. I have other pressing tasks besides audit papers!"_

" _You take me for a fool. That's not very wise. No, that's not like you at all."_

" _All right. I'll tell you why. I had hoped to refrain from casting my judgment and causing a rift between us, but here it is: She's all wrong for you."_

" _What?"_

" _She's wrong for you."_

" _In what way?"_

 _Burns fumbled for words. "I can just tell. She's too concerned about appearances, for one thing."_

" _You just don't want to see me married."_

" _Bu-what? Why on Earth would I object to you getting married? That's absurd."_

" _You're afraid I won't be around as much once we've started our family. I've noticed you don't have many friends besides me."_

" _Don't be foolish! That's not the reason and you damn well know it isn't."_

" _The more you protest, the more I think it is the reason."_

 _Burns sighed and placed his hand upon Smithers' shoulder, then stood and sat back against his desk beside him. "You're my best friend in the world, Waylon. I don't wish to see you hurt."_

" _Maybe. Or maybe you're afraid I'll quit. You know she doesn't like you." Burns winced slightly. "Don't worry, Monty. I like you. You're a great man, and I love working for you."_

" _Do you really mean that?"_

" _Yes. I do."_

 _Burns ran his hand back and forth across Smithers' shoulder, gave a brief squeeze, then slid his hand down Smithers' arm and back to his sides. Looking down and away, eyes despondent, he said, "I wish you the best of luck."_

" _Thanks, Monty. You're a true gentleman."_

That and so many other moments between them had occurred at this very desk, this same desk where he and Smithers Jr. had fornicated twice – the second time being interrupted by those French interlopers. Guilt again overtook him, and not just for his earlier disavowal of their love, but for letting Smithers believe that he was truly in love with him when he knew he never could be so in love with a man as Smithers craved and deserved. He unfurled a wrinkled bit of paper from his pocket and dialed his telephone. "Maureen...it's Monty."


	10. Speak Low

**Chapter 10**

 **Speak Low**

"He'll be away for a convention two weeks from now. We could meet then."

"I can hardly wait," said Maureen, making a kissing sound into the receiver.

"Heed this: Smithers can never know. If you breathe a word about this to anyone, I'll have you drawn and quartered!" He took their photograph into his hand and looked sadly into his eyes. "My dear Waylon..."

"You shouldn't feel guilty. You married a man when you're not even gay. A man has needs, Monty, and clearly, he isn't satisfying them. You can't build a marriage on pity."

"I do care for him, though. I can't imagine my life without him. Every time I've lost him, my life became miserable, and I teetered on the brink of death."

"I understand. But if you're not attracted to him...there's nothing you can do about that. And there's no reason you should suffer for that."

"I suppose you're right," he said, setting the photograph back on his desk. "I'll see you next Saturday."

* * *

Smithers opened the passenger door for Burns and let him inside. "When we get home, we need to talk," said Smithers.

"I know, I know."

Smithers gripped the steering wheel tightly enough to compress the hard plastic, fearing another bombshell that might prompt him to swerve. They spoke not another word until they reached their mansion. Smithers took his hand and led him wordlessly to his study. Once he'd closed the door, he let out a weary sigh and said, "Monty." He inhaled slowly and deeply. "Monty, I need to tell you. I don't think you realize how much it hurts me when you treat me like your shameful little secret. You were always the one who made me feel normal, and right, the one who supported me and told me I was okay as I am. Do you remember those days? Because that's partly why I fell in love with you."

"Smithers –"

"Please, don't say another word. Not unless it's, 'I love you.'"

He stood there, silent, for a full thirty seconds. "I love you, Waylon."

Fighting back tears, he spoke deliberately, "Then why did you hesitate so long?"

"Because I needed to ensure I really meant it."

"I want to know why you're avoiding sex with me – the real reason. If you still love me, and you've enjoyed me in the past, then why don't you want me anymore?"

"You're always pushing me. I can't perform like a trained seal."

"Oh, honey, you know I don't expect you to perform like a thirty-year-old. I don't expect you to do anything but have fun. I told you, I love you as you are." He kissed Burns' neck. "I love you just the way you are." He kissed the corner of his mouth. "And darling, it's okay to be attracted to men."

"I am _not_ attracted to men."

"But you're attracted to me."

"No. Just because I enjoy sex with you doesn't mean I'm attracted to you."

"Good Lord! I haven't seen a man go to such lengths to deny his homosexual attractions since I was a closeted college student! You might think your ridiculous excuses are convincing, but I majored in mental gymnastics. I know all the moves, because I became an expert at all of them back when I was still in denial. And that's what you are – you're in denial."

"It's not an excuse; it's the truth!"

"You wouldn't enjoy sex with me if you weren't attracted to me."

"You're just a tool, Waylon. As you've always been."

A tear dripped down his eye. "How could you say that to me? Are you really that ashamed of me, that you'd tear me down just so you can keep believing you're straight? You promised you loved me, but you don't love me at all!"

"No! No, I didn't mean that." He put a hand on Smithers' shoulder.

Smithers put his hand on the inside of Burns' elbow. "Then what the hell do you mean?"

"I – I'm sorry, Waylon...my dear Waylon. I admit it – I am attracted to you. Take me in your arms, and I will show you exactly how attracted to you I am." He placed his other hand on Smithers' shoulders, rubbed them briefly, then squeezed.

Smithers brought his hand to the small of Burns' back, stroking his protruding vertebrae then drifting lower. He squeezed a buttock and pulled him close so they were in contact. The fingers of his other hand sifted through Burns' hair from bottom to top, and they kissed. "Oh, my love..." He kissed behind Burns' ear. "I would stay in your arms forever if I could."

Burns rested his head on Smithers' shoulder and murmured, "I do notice, you know."

"Notice what?"

"The little things you do for me. My face painted in sugar on my oatmeal, the rose petals on my pillow. I am so used to you thanklessly pampering me, I never thought to thank you." Smithers smiled. "So...thank you."

"Thanks, Monty. I appreciate that." The doorbell rang, and a security camera screen showed it was Birch Barlow at their doorstep. Smithers kissed his neck a few times, saying in between kisses in a distractedly annoyed murmur, "What the hell is he doing here?"

"Must be...some party business..." he said between Smithers' kisses. "I'm afraid we must answer."

"Oh, no, if it's important, he'll come back later." He kissed Burns deeply, and they each moaned softly in tandem.

"Sorry. I must," he said, disengaging himself from Smithers and heading out of the study.

"I suppose we can continue this later," he said, following him out to the front door.

Smithers opened the door, and Burns said, "What is it, Barlow? I'm a busy man."

"You're one of the first to know I'm running for governor. As you are one of the most reliable and generous donators to Republican candidates, I assume I can count on your support, particularly my policy of not taxing job creators such as yourself."

"Excellent! Just let me get out my checkbook," he said, reaching into his pocket. "Smithers, a pen."

Smithers grabbed him by the shoulder and whirled him around. "Sir, may I speak with you a moment – alone?"

Burns turned to Barlow. "Just a moment. Dear Smithers wants a word with me. I'll be back with the check in a jiff."

Smithers closed the door. "How could you? If he had his way, he'd make our love illegal."

"But think of the tax cuts!"

"Is three dollars a year really worth more to you than your dignity?"

"Your worries are groundless, Waylon. The Supreme Court has seen to it that no mere governor could annul our marriage. Let him bleat on about blizz-blazz – we'll be the ones laughing our way to the bank."

"Just because I'm set doesn't mean I'm about to throw all the less wealthy gay people under the bus. I can't believe you'd ask me to."

"Why not? I've never shown concern for the poor before. What makes this any different?"

"Because I was one of them. If I didn't have you, Monty, this would hurt me."

"But you do have me."

"And I'm grateful every minute for that. But – you know, it's still legal in this state to fire someone just for being gay. With Barlow in office, there'd be no hope of changing that anytime soon."

"I will protect you. If he dares breathe another word of contempt for you, I shall have him beaten to within an inch of his life."

"You just don't get it, do you? This is my community. A community that was there for me when I still thought my desires were wrong, that showed me I didn't have to be in a miserable marriage with a woman, that I could pursue my heart's desire – that I could pursue _you_ , Monty. I can't stab them in the back like that, not when I've relied on that community more times than I can count so that I could see the day we're married. Because without those activists' decades of hard work and self-sacrifice, we wouldn't be here. I'd be a drunken wreck, my life a shambles, and we never would've married."

"You don't need any community; you have me."

Smithers turned his head abruptly and shut his eyes in rage. "If he's on the ballot, I'm voting Democrat!"

Burns gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, yes I would. In '84, I voted for Mondale." Burns gasped."And I'd do it again."

"Now, now, let's not be hasty. I'm sure we can work something out with him."

"Work something out? He's a demagogue! It doesn't matter to him what's right or wrong, just what will garner him more money and power!"

"Hm. You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Well, dear, with you, it's different. You actually deserve your wealth and influence."

"All right, I'll go tell him." They opened the door, Burns' hand on the knob and Smithers' hand on Burns'.

"So, how much have you decided to give my campaign?" asked Barlow. "Your usual five million?"

"Sorry, no dice."

"Well, even a few thousand would help."

"And you won't even get that."

"I don't understand. You've always donated generously to Republican candidates, and we agree on every issue –"

"Not _every_ issue. You won't get one red cent out of me, not until you stop haranguing my dear Smithers and his ilk for being that way."

Barlow made a sound like the crack of a whip. "You're going to let that sissy bootlicker order you around?"

"Shut up and get off my property."

"I knew that conniving queer would make you his lavender lackey!"

"You don't know when to shut up."

"Go ahead and keep fucking his truckling ass, see if I care. He's probably just going to give you AIDS anyway."

"Smithers...release the hounds."

Smithers' lips twisted into a delighted, vengeful grin. Slowly, in a low, malevolent voice, he said, "With _pleasure_ , sir," as he activated a switch to release the hounds, who set upon Barlow, tearing through his clothes into his flesh, forcing him to writhe in agony on their doorstep.

After multitudinous pleas for mercy yielded nothing but vindictive snickers, he yelled, "You'll pay for this, Burns!"

"Yes," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Perhaps next time you'll think twice before disparaging the love of my life," he said, bringing an arm around Smithers' back and leaning against him as he glided his fingertips across Smithers' Adam's apple.

Smithers' shoulders bobbed up a bit in glee, and he tilted his head and lowered his eyelids. "Oh, Monty. You're so romantic." They glanced back at Barlow, still struggling against the hounds, then shared a kiss. Smithers slid the toe of his shoe across the grass before him, then pushed Barlow's forehead back with the bottom of his shoe. "I hope you've learned your lesson, Barlow. You don't cross the most prominent couple in Springfield. We aren't bleeding heart liberals, and we don't believe in mercy."


	11. The Adulterous Businessman

**Chapter 11**

 **The Adulterous Businessman**

Smithers kissed Burns' cheek. "I'll be thinking of you," he said and leaned in for another kiss, this time kissing him deeply. Burns returned their kiss, and their heads bobbed back and forth as they pressed into each other, taking turns in allowing the other to overpower him. Smithers caressed Burns' cheek. "I love you. I'll see you Sunday." He kissed his cheek again, then brushed his lips against his ears and whispered, "Will you miss me?"

Burns kissed his cheek. "Every minute, my treasure."

Smithers beamed. "Marge, Homer! Are you and the kids ready to go home?"

"Yes," said Marge, dragging Homer down the hall, clinging to the walls, reluctant to leave the mansion. "Homer! You knew this day would come."

"I knew nothing! I knew nothing..." he said, crumbling into sobbing.

Smithers chuckled. "I thought this might happen. So, we got you some parting gifts. This is for you," he said, handing Homer a gold wristwatch. "And for you," he said, handing Marge some gold earrings. "and I haven't forgotten little Bart and Lisa." He gave Bart a Radioactive Man #1 signed by the artist and Lisa a boxed 1978 ERA Now! Malibu Stacy.

"Wow! Cool! Finally, a Radioactive Man #1 all to myself!" said Bart.

"A Malibu Stacy with a message! Thank you, Mr. Smithers," said Lisa.

"Nothing for Maggie?" said Marge.

Burns bristled. "Maybe she should have thought of that before shooting me, hm? See who's laughing now. Muahahahaha!"

Smithers put his hands on Burns' shoulders. "All right, dear. I'm going to drop the Simpsons off at their home, then I'll be on my way to Capital City. I'll call you when I get to the hotel." He kissed his cheek again. "Take care."

* * *

"I'm ready whenever you're ready." Maureen dropped her coat to the floor, revealing a translucent negligee. Burns' heart stopped as his eyes feasted on the sight of shallow lace draped over her supple breasts and the tantalizingly sheer fabric over her vulva.

"Remember – Smithers can never know."

"Why don't you just leave him if you aren't attracted to him?"

"I love him too much to leave him."

"You obviously don't love him that much, if you're going to cheat on him."

"I suppose you're right," he said resignedly. His face brightened. "You are positively ravishing, my dear," he said, looking into her eyes as he cupped her bare shoulder into his hand. Just beyond her neck, he saw the photograph of him and Smithers on their wedding night, Smithers' face wet and ruddy with enraptured tears. "Wait! Miss Tully, I cannot go through with this." He reached over the soft, gentle curve of Maureen's hip to overturn the photograph. "Ah, there. Now, where were we?"

"I was just about to show you just how hot you make me," she said, lifting the skirt of her negligee and bringing her knees to her chest.

Burns averted his gaze. Her feminine physique, as immensely pleasing as it was, felt alien to him. Her smell was so unlike Smithers'. Smithers felt so comfortable, so warmly inviting in his arms, and Maureen felt cold and stiff despite the heat emanating from her body. He reached for her chest, but the soft yet firm feeling of her breast yielding to his fingers felt intrusive, her flesh extending past where his lover's flesh ought to end. _This is what you've wanted for months, Monty. Now is not the time to chicken out._

"Oh..." Maureen moaned a high-pitched, breathy, mellifluous moan. So unlike Smithers' low, nasal, gravelly moan.

 _I should be enjoying this. What if spending all that time around him has turned me into a homosexual? But no, she arouses me, there is no doubt about that. But still..._ The sound of Smithers' crying echoed in his memory. "Ah! Dagh! No!" he cried, backing away from Maureen and curling into a ball.

"What's the matter, Monty?"

"I'll tell you what's the matter. I can't do this to Waylon. He loves me so."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. You never have any compunction about lying and cheating!"

"I only lie and cheat when it'll get me what I want. And I've decided. Waylon is what I want. He has given me the best twenty years of my life, and I love him a thousandfold more than I could ever love you. Now, get off my property."

She sniffled. "Okay, Monty. If that's...what you really want, then I'll go. Just..." she took a careful look at him, "kiss me goodbye."

"Oh, very well," he said, leaning forward and giving a chaste peck on the cheek.

That was when the door swung open. "Guess who's home early and brought a box of chocolates and bubble bath for his sweet–" Smithers gasped sharply, shallowly, his lips trembling as tears splotched his glasses, his heart skipping two beats before resuming with a deafening thud. He looked straight into Burns' eyes with desperate devastation, brought his hand up to his reddening cheek, then took off running down the hall.

Maureen turned to him and said, "He already thinks we did it, so we might as well."

"Get out! Get out before I release the hounds, you she-devil temptress!"

"All right, I'm leaving!" She grabbed her coat and ran out.

Burns, still in his boxers and slippers, ran after Smithers as fast as he could, unable to catch up to him. "Smithers!" he cried. "SMITHERS! I feel nothing for her! I choose you!" He was utterly exhausted, but he pressed on, walking when he could no longer run and crawling when he could no longer walk until he lay flat on his stomach at the foot of the stairs, panting and wailing, "Smithers...Smithers..."

Smithers stepped back inside to grab his suitcase. Burns grabbed at his ankles, still crying for him. "I don't want to hear any more of your crocodile tears!" He yanked his leg away from Burns.

"W-where are you going, Waylon? Please, don't leave me!"

"I don't know," he said, the harshness in his voice giving way to sorrow.

"I didn't sleep with her, I swear! I called it off just before you arrived. I swear on your father's –"

"You leave my father out of this!"

"I swear to you, Waylon, I didn't break our vow."

"You didn't just break your vow, you broke my heart!" His chest heaved. "Goodbye!"

He drove their limousine onto the freeway and kept going, lost in a trance as he drove the highways. He found himself back at Capital City, and the took the next exit to the hotel he'd checked out of hours earlier.

He sat at the hotel bar, downing whiskey like it was water. "Hey, Waylon!" A man's cheery voice. "What brings you to Capital City?"

"Hi, John," he muttered and took another swig of whiskey. "Nothing brings me here. I'm here to get away from Springfield." He took another swig. "What about you?"

"I'm here for Kitsch-Con. You would love it; they have a whole booth on Malibu Stacy merchandise." He looked over Smithers' distraught face and the many empty glasses of liquor before him. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Mr. Burns...he cheated on me."

"I'm sorry." He patted Smithers' back.

"He...he wouldn't make love to me, but he'll fuck her. There's no telling how many times they've hooked up..."

"Your boyfriend cheated on you with a woman? Ouch."

"My husband."

"Ooh. Why wouldn't he want to have sex with you? You're great in bed, and you clearly haven't let yourself go," he said, looking Smithers up and down. Indeed, Smithers was in better shape than when they had been going out.

"He's in denial about being bisexual. The being attracted to men part, I mean."

"Maybe he's really straight."

Smithers lowered his head to the bar counter and started whimpering, the anguish tearing his chest apart. "But he...he used to want me." He stroked his wedding band obsessively.

"Listen to me, Waylon. And I mean really listen, because I know you, and once you fall head-over-heels in love with someone, you lose yourself in him, and you forget you are a great guy. You're a fantastic lover, and if he can't appreciate that, it's his loss."

"You mean it? You think I'm fantastic?" he said, coyly running his finger along the edge of his whiskey glass.

"I wouldn't have slept with you so many times if you weren't."

Smithers giggled flirtatiously. "You look great, by the way."

"You too, Waylon. You too." Smithers lowered his eyelids and placed his hand on John's wrist, ran his fingertips over the back of his hand. "Are you sure you want to? I don't want us to do anything you'll regret."

"Oh, I haven't had _that_ much to drink. I know what I want."

"I want you, Waylon."

"You don't know how good that sounds." Smithers ran his hand up and down John's arm, finally settling on holding his hand as they headed for John's hotel room.


	12. Which Hurts and Is Desired

**Chapter 12**

 **Which Hurts and Is Desired**

Smithers awoke, swaddled in hotel blankets, his tear-strewn face curled into John's chest. _Monty feels different this morning._ He felt John's torso and realized it definitely wasn't Mr. Burns in his arms. "What the _–_ " And then he remembered. The hurt pierced his heart anew, and he clutched John's bicep. It had been as good as a tryst motivated by heartbreak could be – at least, what he remembered of it was good.

"Good morning, Waylon."

"Good morning...John," he said, his tongue hesitating on the name. "Wow. This is...this is different." It felt as though he'd just gone to bed with a stranger and not with a man he'd dated for six months. It would have perturbed him less if their night of torrid sex had been strictly a physical flight of hormonal urges, devoid of loving gestures, but the physical contact had rekindled the feelings they once shared, and for a moment he questioned whether he should have stayed with John instead of letting their relationship fall to the wayside as he embedded himself further in Burns' duplicitous grasp.

"I normally don't screw around with married guys, but considering your situation..."

"Yes." He pulled the covers up to his shoulders. "Um, I'm going to get dressed, then I'll...I need some time alone."

"I understand," he said, standing from the bed and donning an Elvis Presley bathrobe. They heard a slight tapping on the door. "Oh, that must be the room-service I ordered earlier," he said as he answered it.

Mr. Burns stood in the doorway, wearing a white suit with a red vest and carrying a red rose between his teeth as he pounded furiously at the door. At the sight of a half-naked Smithers putting on his pants and John in his kitschy robe, Burns' face fell. "Smithers! How could you?"

Livid, Smithers said, "How could _I_? You have the gall to–when you–"

"I didn't go through with sleeping with her."

"Yeah, likely story."

"Smithers, no, I swear–"

"You swear on my father's grave? How dare you!" He threw his dirty socks at him.

"Waylon, my dear..."

"What?"

"I am sorry." The words calmed Smithers, and Burns sat beside him on the bed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I am not ashamed of you. And it's time I told you..." Burns turned to John. "Do you mind?"

"Oh, sorry. This _is_ my hotel room."

"Well, we have something confidential to discuss, so ta!"

"I'm sure it won't be long," said Smithers, giving an apologetic look. John gave a little side-eye, then shrugged and walked into the hall.

"It's time I told you the real reason I've been so reluctant to make love to you."

"I knew it! It had nothing to do with my father at all. That was just an excuse you made up to ply at my sympathies!"

"No, Waylon – it has everything to do with your father."

"You've said that before; this is nothing new."

"I find myself questioning the validity of my...of our...entanglement."

"What is it this time? Because you're old enough to be my grandfather? Because you pay my salary? Because we're both men?"

"Because I was in love with your father!"

Had Smithers been standing, he would've fallen flat on his ass. "You – you _what_?" Smithers' jaw hung slack. "Are you saying...you had sex...with my father?"

"No. I didn't." He averted his eyes. "He never returned my feelings. At least, not that he would ever admit to. He loved your mother."

"This...this is unbelievable."

"It was 1950 – just five years before he died – when I confessed myself..."

" _Make yourself at home," said Burns, gesturing to the divan by the fire where he was sitting. He seated himself next to Burns, who topped off Smithers' brandy. It was the first time he'd stayed at Burns Manor for any length of time beyond escorting him to and from his limousine._

 _Looking into the glass, he said, "I never drink this much on work nights."_

" _Consider this meeting as much for pleasure as it is for business."_

" _Mr. Burns –"_

" _Call me Monty."  
_

" _Monty. I must admit I am a little mystified as to why you asked me to meet you here tonight at this hour just to review the quarterly financial reports."_

" _I confess I did invite you under false pretenses. I wanted to celebrate your remarkable work ethic and performance over the years, and I knew your ceaseless devotion to industry would prevent you from voluntarily joining in any festivities. Drink and be merry, Waylon. You have earned it."_

" _Thank you...Monty. I appreciate that." They each took long sips. "I really do. I know it's rare for you to make such an overture to an employee."_

" _You are more perceptive than you know." He topped off Smithers' glass again._

" _No, really. It's an honor and a privilege to be welcomed into the company of such an intelligent and striking man as yourself."_

" _There's no need to flatter me. I already approved your raise."_

" _It's not flattery. I regard myself as extremely fortunate to know you."_

" _I'm glad you think so."_

" _My wife...she just doesn't understand you. She thinks it's strange we're so close. If she knew the real Montgomery Burns, she would think more highly of you."_

" _You know I can't let anyone else know me like you do." He filled Smithers' glass up to the brim._

" _Go easy on the liquor, Monty. Haven't I had enough already?"_

" _I'll say when you've had enough. Now, drink up, my friend."_

" _You consider me your friend?"_

" _You're my best friend." He laid his hand on the back of one of Smithers' and stroked it a few times before stopping to interlock their fingers._

" _Th-thank you, sir! That means...a lot to me."_

" _How much?"_

" _Excuse me?"_

" _How much...does it mean to you?" Fingers still curled between Smithers', he guided his hand to caress Smithers' inner thigh and stared at him seductively._

" _Now, Mr. Burns, just wait a minute..." he said, eyes fixed on their hands. Burns moved his hand gradually up his thigh. Smithers' eyes were fixed as he stopped breathing, his chest tight with fear and anticipation. Then, stopping just short of his crotch, Burns lifted his hands and put them around Smithers' neck and head, then rapidly closed in and kissed him flush on the lips. Smithers' eyes widened as far as they could go, his heart pounding as if walls were closing in on him. "Monty...I don't mind you being like that, but...I'm not like that."_

" _I know you aren't." He poured more brandy into his own glass. Just before taking a swig, he said, "Except for me." He set the glass down. "Just as I'm not like that, except for you. Isn't that right, Waylon? You want me."_

" _What gave you that idea?"_

" _Isn't that interesting? You elected not to refute my accusation. Well, we have all night, so I'll humor you. I've seen you blush and glance away. I've seen you stare at my ass like a jack stares at a jenny. And I've seen you cover yourself with a clipboard when you've witnessed me disrobing for decontamination showers. I'm not a stupid man, Waylon."_

" _Even if there were an ounce of truth to what you're saying –"_

" _And there's a whole pound of truth."_

" _Even if that were the case, I could never indulge you. I can't do that to Hattie."_

" _She will never know." Burns looked penetratingly into his eyes. "I acquire what I want, and I want you, Waylon. And I will have you." He lifted Smithers' glass and poured brandy down his throat. "Relax. Let yourself go. I shall wait for you to make your move."_

" _You'll be waiting 'til the sun explodes, Monty. Ply me with alcohol all you want, I won't do it."_

" _Oh, I think you will." He drank some brandy, then poured the remainder of his glass into Smithers'. He loosened his tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt and reclined, arm draped over his head like a sultry model. "Don't keep me waiting, my dear Smithers." He reached his hand toward Smithers._

 _Smithers grabbed his wrist and yanked it away. "Mr. Burns, stop it!" He slammed his glass back down onto the table. "I'm going to leave now, sir. And if you ever proposition me again, I will quit on the spot." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "Good night, sir."_

"Your father was a very understanding fellow, and we remained good friends. But we never discussed my desire again. So you see, I keep wondering whether my affection for you is sincerely for you, or whether I am trying in vain to live out my unfulfilled desires for your father. That is why I feared I could not truly love you. That is why I tried in vain to distance myself from you all these years. I couldn't bear another rejection."

"You...loved my father."

"More than I've loved anyone. Had I known how to save the plant on the day of your father's demise, I would have gone in his place. You know that, don't you?" Smithers nodded in befuddlement, still reeling from the revelation. "The night that he died, after I disposed of his body, I sat at my desk and held you in my arms, gazing out the window at the city he'd just spared. I didn't yet know what I would tell your mother, and I couldn't very well hand you off to her without a word of where her husband went.

"As luck would have it, that night she had to go to the hospital, buying me some time to come up with a cover story. The telephone rang interminably that night. It must have been the hospital staff attempting to reach him, but I couldn't bear to lie any more than I could bear to tell the truth. You were lying in my arms, happy as a clam, and seeing your smiling face set me to crying. I bawled, and I must have upset you, because you began to cry, too. And we just held each other and cried for hours. From that moment, I loved you terribly, and now nothing makes me feel dirtier."

"There's no reason to feel dirty. It would only be creepy and wrong if you were sexually aroused by me as a kid."

"Fuh-wha-I did no such – that is absurd!"

"Relax, Monty. I know you're not a pedophile. There's nothing dirty about a platonic love, even if it did later evolve into something more."

"Your father would hate–"

"But _I_ love you." Burns kissed him passionately. When they parted, Smithers panted a bit and said, "Now, Monty, you've given me about a half dozen reasons you don't want to make love to me. I want to hear the reasons you _do_ want to make love to me."

"Very well. I want you because you know exactly how to please me. I want you because your touch sets me aflame. And I want you because you are the best thing that has ever happened to me."


	13. The First Time Once Again

**Chapter 13**

 **The First Time Once Again**

"Come here, Smithers," said Burns from his office chair as Smithers watered his office plants.

"Yes, dear?" he said, setting down the watering can and standing before his desk.

"I have to tell you of my latest, most inspired business deal yet."

"I'm all ears," he said, eager to hear another story of his love's business acumen.

"How would an extra billion dollars sound to you?"

"Sounds impressive," he said as he sat on their desk and crossed his legs, turned on at the thought of Burns' skillful strategizing and not caring a whit about the money per se.

"I'm glad we're in agreement, because that's precisely what this deal will get us."

"And what is this mysterious deal you keep mentioning, hm? Is it an energy monopoly?"

"No..." he said, playful.

"Playing the stock market?"

"Guess again."

"Squashing a competitor?"

"No. It's a thing of beauty, really. I've devised a plan to get paid to dispose of the toxic waste of every other power plant in the state for pure profit."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I'm simply going to dump it throughout Springfield. First in the parks, then in the lake, then in the sewers, and then in the landfill once we run out of room." Noticing Smithers' disgusted expression, he added, "But don't worry about that. Springfield will be rendered uninhabitable long before we have to resort to that."

"But, sir, Springfield is our home. We've built our lives here. Our beautiful mansion is here. You can't possibly consider going through with this!"

"With the money we'll get, we'll have enough to have our mansion air-lifted to Tahiti!"

"But what if you get caught? Think of the fines!"

"So I'll pay out a few million in fines. It's chump change compared to the payout I'll be getting."

"What if they put you in prison?"

"I have more than enough money to bribe any jury in the country, and I'll have even more once this deal goes through."

"I'm drawing the line, Monty. We're not doing this."

"Who said you get veto power?"

"As your vice-president and husband, I certainly do have a say in what our business does to the city we call home."

"I have considered your say and will proceed anyway."

"No. That's final."

He leaned in, his arms straight back. "You may be my husband, but you're no longer my vice-president. You're fired!"

Smithers mirrored his posture. "You can't fire me! I quit!"

Burns grabbed his elbows. "Are you as turned on as I am?"

Smithers grabbed his lapels in desperation. "More." They kissed in a wild, impassioned frenzy, Smithers haphazardly finding their way back to the desk and drawing the curtain shut before sitting in Burns' chair with him on his lap, still engaged in their unbroken kiss. Still kissing, Smithers wrested his and Burns' jackets off and tossed them to the floor. He undid their belts, and Burns untucked Smithers' shirt, then placed his hand on the cloth over Smithers' crotch.

"You want me."

"Oh, I do, sir." He seized Burns' shoes, threw them across the room, and unfastened Burns' pants, pulling them off as rapidly as he could. He undid his own pants and pulled them down, holding Burns above his lap with one arm for long enough to scoot the pants down to his knees.

Burns sat atop him, their crotches meeting, his legs straddled around Smithers. He held Smithers by the shoulders and rubbed against him as Smithers took Burns' shirt off. "Oh, Waylon. I want you." He reached one hand under Smithers' shirt and stroked his chest.

Smithers grinned, pulled Burns' underwear down, then wrestled out of his own. He kissed Burns' neck just below his ear and whispered, "Get on top of me."

"I am – oh! On top of you."

"No," said Smithers, kissing him many times in quick succession, "more on top of me." He reached for his discarded jacket and pulled out a bottle of lube and began applying it to himself. "Sit on me, Monty."

"What? I will do no such thing! Just because you have a body befitting Adonis doesn't mean you get to order me around."

"I can make you feel better than you've ever felt before," he said, massaging Burns' shoulders.

"This is all happening so fast..."

"I made good on that promise before, didn't I?" He closed his lips around Burns' earlobe and tugged at it with a sucking motion. "I won't hold you down if you decide to stop. But I know and you know that you want me inside you as much as I want to be inside you. Only difference is, you need someone to blame. So, blame me." He looked lovingly into Burns' apprehensive eyes and kissed his forehead. "I'll be gentle. Monty, you know I'll be gentle. Half the joy is in making you happy."

"Oh, just shut up and take me."

"Yes, sir!" And that morning, amid cries of ecstatic delight, they gave a new meaning to the appellation of "yes-man."

* * *

Burns lay slumped and naked over Smithers' chest, clutching at the fabric of his sweat-soaked shirt. Smithers said, "Is this how you handle all your business disputes? Because if it is, I'll have to defy you more often." He exhaled and ran his hands up and down Burns' shoulder blades.

"Smithers..." he said in a dreamy moan as he dragged his fingers across Smithers' chest. "Smithers..." He closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction. "You were...excellent. Truly...excellent."

"You don't know how happy that makes me."

"Oh, I think I do." He looked slyly at him and poked his chest with an index finger. "I'm sorry I neglected your needs for so long. I promise that from now on, we're making love once a week. At least."

"Don't feel like you need to be on a schedule. I don't mind waiting. Just knowing, truly knowing, you want me – that's all I need."

"But that's not all I need." He blushed the moment the words left his lips.

"Well then, sweetheart, you know I'm more than happy to oblige you."

Burns inhaled slowly, then exhaled even more slowly. "Oh, Smithers, perhaps you were right. I won't dump the toxic waste in Springfield." Smithers smiled. "I'll dump it in Shelbyville." Smithers gave a soft, disapproving, "hm..." "Oh, all right. I'll spend the hundred dollars in petroleum round-trip to dump it out in the desert. Happy now?"

Smithers cozied his head against Burns' and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, dear. I'm happy. But not nearly as happy as I was a few minutes ago..." He smiled in euphoria and held Burns close to him. "Mm...your scent is intoxicating." He pressed his cheek against Burns', and in doing so noticed the time on the clock. "Good Lord! It's ten past eleven. We're late for our meeting!"

"Oh, let's skip it."

"Mm...but no, sir, we can't. We're cutting expenditures today."

"Oh, my favorite type of meeting. Very well, let's get dressed," he said, sliding his hands down Smithers' chest as he backed away and sat on his desk.

As he stood, Smithers paused to take in the breathtaking sight of his husband nude on the desk. He then proceeded to gather their clothes, first putting his boxers back on, then dressing Burns, taking every opportunity to feel the bony ridges of his ribs, the wrinkled skin along his shoulder, the grizzled hair on his chest, the protuberance of his hip bone jutting slightly yet sharply, and the length of his gaunt legs. Smithers put his own pants on, and Burns tucked his shirt into them, squeezing his hips. Smithers put his arms through his jacket, and they held hands as they departed the office for the boardroom.

They entered the room and all heads turned their way. The meeting could not start without them, so for fifteen minutes, the executives had waited, sitting in silence. Smithers noticed they were still holding hands and let go of Burns' hand. "Shall we get started?" said Burns, seating himself at one end of the table and motioning for Smithers to seat himself in the chair beside him. "Where do you recommend we cut costs? Nikitin!"

"I recommend we get rid of the violinist who plays in the executive bathroom all day."

"Nonsense. Delany!"

"We could charge employees for parking."

"Hm. I like it. Lee!"

"We could give a 1% raise to every employee with a flawless three-month safety record contingent on them maintaining that record."

"A raise? Are you mad? Get out!"

Smithers touched his hand. "Sir, it might encourage employees to adopt safe practices, and fewer accidents means not having to pay for better PR, not having to pay to settle lawsuits, and not having to pay to replace damaged equipment."

"Hm...perhaps you're right. Excellent idea, Smithers!"

"Actually, sir, it was Mr. Lee's idea."

"Oh, yes. I suppose it was. What the hell, I'm in a good mood. Mr. Lee, you're getting a five percent raise." He stole a glimpse of Smithers' smile. "And a three percent raise for the rest of you." The executives looked to each other in astonishment.

When the meeting concluded, Mr. Lee pulled Smithers aside. "Is Mr. Burns dying?"

"What? No!"

"High on painkillers?"

"No, no, what is this about?"

"He's acting...nice."

Smithers chuckled. "It's nothing like that. I just...put him in a good mood before the meeting."

Mr. Lee turned to the other executives, and they exchanged a knowing look. "Oh, so _that's_ why you were late."

Smithers' cheeks reddened. "Oh, no, no, you've got it all wrong..."

"Hey, relax," said Mr. Delany. "As long as it puts him in a good mood, we're all for it!" The others nodded in agreement.

"Why don't you join us for lunch?" said Mr. Nikitin.

Smithers grinned. "I was planning to eat with Mr. Burns, but I'll get to see him at dinner. I'd love to join you. I'll just tell him and be right back," he said, walking briskly towards Burns. "Sir," he called as he approached, "They invited me to eat lunch in the executive lunchroom today, so after I bring you your meal, I'll be leaving. Okay?"

Burns pouted slightly. "Oh. Well, go on, then. I wouldn't want to get in the way of you having fun."

Smithers caressed his shoulder. "If you really don't want me to go with them, I'll stay with you. But this is an overture of acceptance I haven't known from them since we started seeing each other..." he trailed off, realizing how ridiculous it sounded to use the phrase "seeing each other" in their case, since they had seen each other for decades before commencing a sexual relationship. Well, it was apropos in the sense that they were now seeing all of each other. Though he had seen all of Burns for years...

"Smithers, are you listening?" he said in an affectionately exasperated manner.

"Hm?"

"Yes, yes, go with them! I'll get my own lunch today."

"Are you sure, sir? It won't be any trouble to–"

"I'm not an infant; I can feed myself."

"All right, then. Enjoy your lunch, dear," he said, giving him a peck on his cheek and rejoining his fellow executives on the way to the executive lunchroom.

As they stood in line, Nikitin said, "So, Waylon, how is the married life?"

"I won't lie, it's not all peaches and cream. But it's the best thing to have happened to me."

"I still don't understand how you can be attracted to such an old man," said Delany, taking a cup of minestrone. "But hey, whatever floats your boat."

"There's nothing to understand, really. I just am. And thankfully, he feels the same about me." It was the first time in his life he felt confident this was true.

"Well, I'm glad he does," said Lee. "You've been hurting for him for so long. But I never would've guessed Mr. Burns was gay."

"Mr. Burns isn't gay. He was genuinely attracted to the women he slept with."

"Wait, you mean you actually turned him?"

"No, he's been attracted to other men before me. He just never pursued it because of the stigma."

"Hey, that blowhard Barlow is on Channel 6," said Delany, looking at the television situated on the wall. "Apparently, he's running for governor. There's a rally next week."

As Smithers filled his plate with spaghetti and meatballs, he spotted Burns filling up a plate of his own and smiled. He looked so cute when doing things for himself, so handsome and dignified. Burns gave Smithers a shy smile, clearly remembering their earlier encounter, and headed for the door as Smithers sat with the others at a table near the TV.

" _This country is going to hell, and it's time we honest, God-fearing Americans took it back from the brink of damnation! Vile, scummy, evil atheist liberal homosexuals are running the show, now. Namely, the two richest men in our once wholesome little town, the two men who control Springfield's energy industry – I'm talking about Montgomery Burns and Waylon Smithers."_

Burns dropped his lunch tray, reversed course, and stood beside Smithers. Eyes narrowed malevolently, he sputtered, "No man calls Monty Burns a liberal and lives to tell of it." He curled his hand into a trembling fist. "Besides, I'm no atheist! I'm really more of an anti-theist."

" _...And I say we boycott the nuclear plant. Burn coal, gather firewood, for God's sake, even install solar panels if you have to!"_

"That man doesn't know when to shut up," said Burns through gritted teeth. "Smithers! Make sure he gets what's coming to him."

"Absolutely, sir." And with that, Burns left the room with his lunch.

" _I invite everyone to join us in front of Springfield's City Hall for the rally I'm holding next Saturday – and if you aren't already riled up about the threat the homosexual menace poses to our liberties, you will be by the end of Saturday!"_

Smithers' coworkers apprehensively avoided looking at him. They still didn't really know how to deal with Smithers being out. Sure, like most of Springfield, they had known for years, but Smithers had always kept his sex life extremely private, so the current state of him having sex with the boss and everyone knowing about it was novel for them. Finally, Lee said, "I'm sure he won't draw a large crowd. Most of his listeners don't really agree with him; they just like the shock value."

"I'm sure you're right," said Smithers, but he wasn't sure at all. He'd been privy to the inner workings of the Republican Party for decades, he'd seen the numbers, and he knew that a large proportion of the state's population was still anti-gay. "We'll just have to find a Republican who isn't a hatemonger so we can back his campaign." He took a bite of his spaghetti. "Or hers."

"So," said Delany, turning to Smithers, "What has he got coming to him?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said, taking another bite. "Something...unpleasant." Familiar with Smithers' gift for euphemism and understatement, the three men shuddered. "Yes, he has something very unpleasant coming his way..."


	14. Hearts Held Hostage

**Chapter 14**

 **Hearts Held Hostage**

After lunch, on his way back to his office, Smithers came across Homer. "Hey, Waylon! How're things with ol' Monty?"

"Great, actually. And I'd appreciate if you addressed him as 'Mr. Burns.' Even I refer to him that way while at work."

"Oh, gotcha. So, things are good between you and Burnsie?"

"Yes, things are very good between me and Mr. Burns."

"So...you wouldn't be interested in a zany scheme to get him to prove he really loves you?"

"Haven't you had enough zany schemes for a lifetime?"

"Haven't you had enough relationship drama for a Lifetime movie?"

"Thanks, but I already know he loves me. Though..." He looked around to ensure they were alone. "I must confess, I can't bring myself to trust him anymore. He..." Smithers lowered his voice to a whisper, "he cheated on me. With Maureen."

"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that." They stood there awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze for a few seconds. "Well, if you're ever in doubt about his commitment to you, you can always count on me to orchestrate a phony kidnapping."

"That didn't even work when you pulled that stunt to convince him he loved his son."

"Yeah, but he actually loves you."

Smithers' heart fluttered. It wasn't just apparent to him that Burns loved him – it was equally apparent to others. He clasped his hands over one of Homer's and shook it. "I can't thank you enough, Homer, for helping bring us together. I'm living my wildest dreams, and it's partly thanks to you."

"So...you don't want me to kidnap you."

"If he thought you were really kidnapping me, he would shoot you on sight. That is, if his arthritis didn't stiffen his poor trigger finger." He felt a sting of sadness at the thought of Burns' physical infirmity. He was in very good shape for a man his age, but he still suffered a wide spectrum of maladies. Fortunately, they kept a steady supply of ether on hand to soothe him through times of pain. The memories of times he'd eased Burns' pains warmed his heart. Long before he'd ever given him an orgasm, he had been able to make him feel better nonetheless. "I'm sure I'll be able to trust him again someday soon."

"If you want to get him to prove his trustworthiness, the best way is to–"

"No kidnapping."

"Oh..."

"Anyway, I have to go see Mr. Burns." He began walking towards their office. "Have a good day, Homer!"

No sooner had he entered Burns' office that Burns said sharply, "Smithers! What is the meaning of your dilatory ingress?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I was talking to Homer Simpson."

"Ah yes, that oaf who drank motor oil and filled the gas tank with cola."

"You remembered," marveled Smithers.

"Yes, well, I've only known the man for a few months, but one like that is hard to forget."

Smithers didn't have the heart to remind him that he'd known Homer Simpson for just over a decade. "Were you lonely?" He sat in his chair beside Burns and kissed him delicately where his ear lobe met his jaw.

"Smithers...that's not fair."

"What's not fair?" he said, playing ignorant as he moved in for another kiss, concluding the impassioned peck with a slight nibble of the cartilaginous tissue.

"Oh! Smithers..." He grasped Smithers' wrist, his cheeks flushing as a nervous yet playful smile emerged on his face. "I'll never get any work done with you in the office."

"You don't need to get any work done. That's my job. Your only job is to lie back and enjoy."

"I...I'm not up for this...oh, _again_..."

"Yes, sir," he said, tickling the rest of his ear with his nose and tongue.

"Seriously, though, Smithers, stop these hijinks at once."

Smithers pulled his head slightly back, then kissed Burns' nose before withdrawing to his own chair. "I guess we should get back to work," he said, grabbing a stack of papers from the desktop.

"Yes. But let's resume this later, hm? Shall we say, tonight in the garden?"

"It's a date."

That evening, after they'd finished eating their steak and salad, Burns took Smithers' hand and led him to the garden. They made their way to a bench in front of a pond where the koi swam serenely. "It's a lovely night," said Smithers. "You make it lovelier."

Burns blushed. In the past, he would have dismissed the compliment as the insincere brown-nosing of a man determined to get and stay in his good graces. Now he knew it was the other way around – he wanted to be in Burns' good graces _because_ be truly believed him to be beautiful. He rested his head on Smithers' shoulder, relishing in the feel of Smithers' warm, steady, and slow nasal exhalations brushing his forehead. Smithers brought his arm around him, pulling him closer, and Burns smiled and let out a long and slow, muted squeal. "Mm..."

He brought his hand to Smithers' chest and slid his hand slowly down. He could always count on Smithers to protect him, to comfort him, and to love him. Yes, Smithers was a special man, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally, who loved him more than anything else in the world. _Could I truly love him more than anything? More than my desire for women? Yes, of course. More than my reputation? Yes. More than my money?_ His eyes grew troubled as Smithers, his blissfully closed eyes obliviously unperturbed, nuzzled his nose against Burns'. _Could I truly love the man more than my money?_ It saddened him to realize that if it came down to it, he would rather leave Smithers than lose his fortune. _And yet even if I did so, he would persist in loving me..._

 _Stop worrying over such ridiculous hypotheticals! I have Smithers now, and that's all that matters._ He placed his hand around the back of Smithers' head and pulled him in for a kiss. They kissed delicately for several minutes, basking in the glow of moonlight reflecting off the placid koi pond and off Smithers' glasses. He grabbed Smithers' lapels, pulling their chests into contact, while Smithers squeezed him around his waist, dipping him backward, tilting him away from the bench's armrest and letting his head hang backwards in midair. He leaned forward and kissed him, their heads tilted slightly upside down.

As they did so, a bottle of pills fell from Burns' pocket onto the grass, where it rolled down the sloped soil and plummeted into the water. Smithers' eyes went wide, and he sat Burns gently upright against the back of the bench and dove in to retrieve the pills. When he surfaced, he had an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry, sir..." He opened his hand to reveal the lid had dislodged, and the pills were soaked in filthy pond water. "I'll run to the all-night pharmacy. I'll be back in a jiff." He kissed Burns' cheek and headed toward their limousine.

Burns grabbed his hand. "It can wait."

"But dear, it's your heart medicine. You need to take these each morning and night to keep your heart beating."

"I'll be fine."

"I can't take that risk. If I let anything happen to you, I could never forgive myself." He gave Burns' hand a quick squeeze before leaving. "I'll be back soon. Love you," he said, scurrying off again.

"Smithers!" cried Burns.

Alarmed, Smithers stopped in his tracks and turned around. "Yes, dear?"

Burns stood and walked up to him, taking off his jacket. "Get out of that jacket; it's soaking wet. You'll catch cold."

Smithers smiled and took it off, letting it fall to the ground, and Burns fed Smithers' arms through the sleeves. It was quite tight, but Smithers was far too happy to mind. "Thanks. I'll see you soon, honey." He got into the limousine and drove to the Pop-N-Go All-Night Pharmacy. He went inside, and they swiftly brought out the pills. There was nothing like being a prominent rich man for getting excellent, speedy service at the pharmacy.

He headed back for the limousine, and as he inserted his key into the driver's side door, someone clasped their hand over his mouth, pulling his head back as he tried to yell out. The man grabbed the key out of his hand, opened the rear door, shoved him into the back, and sat beside him as he shut the door.

"I said _not_ to kidnap me!" The barrel of a gun smacked his forehead. "What the hell, Homer?"

"Isn't that cute. The geezer thinks he just has to ask and we'll let him go."

Smithers realized this wasn't one of Homer's zany schemes, but something far more sinister. His pupils narrowed to pinpoints and he grabbed his gun.

"Uh-uh-uh," tutted a large man toting his Smith and Wesson. "I would drop it if I were you." Smithers did as he was told, and a lanky man got behind him and held a piano wire garrote around his neck, not applying pressure but clearly poised to do so. Another man sat in the backseat with him, and the large man, which he could now see was Fat Tony, got behind the wheel. He looked back through the compartment window. "Let's roll."

"W-where are you taking me?" asked Smithers, his voice shedding terror.

"I am not at liberty to reveal the location of our compound," said Fat Tony. "What I can tell you is you're going for a long ride, pops."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"The same reason you cut corners on disposing of toxic waste – for money."

"How much do you want?"

"A hundred million dollars."

"Done. Now, please, let me go."

"Ooh, that was too easy. Perhaps we should ask him for more."

"Take whatever you want, just please, don't lay a hand on Mr. Burns!"

"Wait a minute... This isn't old man Burns. This is his, how shall we say, 'uphill gardener.'"

Smithers gasped, realizing they had intended to capture his husband and growing terrified that they would now set out to capture him. "Well, tough luck. Monty just flew to Paris this afternoon."

"That is unfortunate, because he will have to fly back soon if he wishes to get here in time to save your life."

"Oh dear God, what are you planning?"

"He must hand us 1.5 billion dollars. In cash."

"But that's his entire fortune! He'll never agree to–"

"He had better. Or..." Legs tightened the garrote around Smithers' neck for a couple seconds before letting it go slack again. Smithers' lips trembled, his heart galloped, and his eyes rolled back as he fainted.

...

 _Ring ring! Ring ring!_

 _..._

 _Ring ring! Ring ring!_

…

Burns heard his cellphone ringing from inside the house and rushed inside. Smithers had been gone for the better part of an hour, and he had grown more worried than he would care to admit. Surely the car just broke down. Or maybe there was an accident blocking the road. Or maybe dear Smithers had gotten in a crash and was now lying sprawled on the asphalt, blood seeping into the cracks...

"Ahoy-hoy!" He tapped his fingers anxiously against the back of the phone as he awaited a response. "Smithers is this you? Why aren't you home yet?"

"This is a friendly demand for ransom. You have twenty-four hours to deliver 1.5 billion dollars in cash, or we will kill your precious Waylon."

"If this is some sort of sick prank, you are not amusing me."

"To prove I'm not joking, why don't you talk to Waylon yourself?"

Fat Tony held the phone near Smithers, who was tied to a chair, his ankles bound together by chains. "Help me! They're Mafia, they're gonna kill me – they aren't bluffing! Monty, you have to save me! I love you, Monty! I want to live to see you again..." Fat Tony pistol whipped him in the back of his head, and he fell unconscious.

"Smithers? Smithers, speak to me! Waylon, please..."

Fat Tony returned the phone to his ear. "Mr. Smithers will not be able to come to the phone anytime soon. He has been rendered unconscious by the barrel of my gun."

"Return him to me at once! Or you shall face a most gruesome fate indeed."

"The money. Give us the money, and we will return him safe and sound." Burns stopped breathing for a few seconds. "Don't try anything funny, Burnsie. Should you defy me, we will slit his throat."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You have twenty-four hours." Click.

He dropped his phone and fell to his knees, his lips trembling. "W-Waylon..." Tears began to flow unfettered. "Oh, Waylon... What can I possibly do to save you?"


	15. Rough in Proof

**Chapter 15**

 **Rough in Proof**

Smithers came to, still tied to the chair but lying on the floor. "Where is Mr. Burns?" he shouted in a hoarse, panicky voice. "Is he okay? Tell me he's okay!"

"You're really fixated on that geezer, ain't you?" said Legs.

"Damn straight I'm fixated on him! He's my husband."

"Relax," said Louie. "He's not here. And don't get your hopes up, bub. He still hasn't called to arrange the drop. Face it, he's not gonna come for you."

"What are you saying? Of course he'll come for me." They broke into uproarious laughter. "He wouldn't leave me to die just so he can be rich." They laughed even harder. "He loves me!" They fell to the floor from laughing so hard.

"Isn't that sweet?"said Legs. "He thinks his sugar daddy cares about him more than money."

"I hate to break it to you, but Burnsie don't love nobody. He's got no compunction about screwing other people over for the sake of his own pocketbook."

"That's true, but I'm not 'other people,' I'm his husband. He risked his reputation so I could be his husband. He could never stand back and let me be killed."

"Like he stood back and let your daddy be killed?"

"He didn't 'let' my father die; there was nothing he could've done about that!"

"You sure about that? Nothing he could've done, eh? Not even pay for repairs on the reactor after safety reports revealed it was a ticking time bomb?"

"What are you talking about?"

Louie opened an attaché case and pulled out some yellowed papers with the old Springfield Nuclear Power Plant insignia printed on them. "Says here your father identified the safety risk of a faulty control rod release system in 1954, and old man Burns skimped on repairs and hired a grossly unqualified mechanic to do the job, making it necessary for your father to manually put the control rods into place when the meltdown started." Smithers stopped breathing. "Look at the reports and see for yourself."

"That won't be necessary," said Smithers, vision blurred by tears. "I believe you."

* * *

Chief Wiggum stood on the street outside his police car a block away from the mafia compound, eating donuts as Burns paced alongside the length of the car. "So what's your plan, Chief?" he said, wringing his hands.

"We'll have an officer sneak around in back, and set up some tanks for back-up."

"Won't the tanks just call attention to our presence?"

"Yeah, probably, but they make the moment feel big and important. It's like living in a Michael Bay movie!"

"That won't do! You must ensure me no harm will come to Smithers. I would rather the whole town of Springfield perish than one drop of blood spill from his veins."

"I assure you, we are highly trained and capable of dealing with hostage situations such as these."

"Like how you deftly handled Gloria's kidnapping?" he said, sarcastic.

"Yeah, like that!" said Wiggum, mistaking it for a compliment.

Burns shuddered. "I can't entrust his life to these clodhopper coppers. Time to call in a favor." He dialed a number on his phone. "I must speak with Mr. McHugh, first name John. It is you? John, remember those funds I funneled for your congressional campaigns? I'll cut to the chase: I need Army resources to save...someone very dear to me," he said, knowing the man would not approve of his marriage. "We need to break into a mafia compound without them detecting us, or they will kill the hostage. That is an outcome that absolutely, positively, one hundred percent cannot happen. Do I make myself clear? Excellent." He hung up.

Lou spoke through Wiggum's transceiver. "We have the perimeter secured."

Burns' phone rang again. "Ahoy-hoy!"

"Don't even think about it," said Fat Tony.

Burns put his fingertips in his mouth between his teeth and clamped his teeth around them for a moment before saying, "Whatever do you mean?"

"If those cops advance any further, your precious Waylon's throat has a date with a knife." Fat Tony ended the call, and Burns' heart made a solitary, resounding thud.

Burns watched in horror as Lou slipped inside the building and a tank advanced from around the block. "No! No! Abort the rescue operation!" He ran into the street in front of the tank, flailing his arms. "Get back, I say!" The tank maintained its course, and he heard a round of gunfire from within the compound and ran for the alley where Lou and several officers had slipped inside, easily fitting between some loose slats of wood. "Waylon! I'm coming for you, Waylon!" He slipped on a pool of liquid and fell to the ground, his arm lying on top of another. He lifted his arm with dread and saw his sleeve was soaked in blood and screamed. "I'm too late! Smithers..." He wept into the man's arm, curling up into a fetal position as he did so. "Smithers..." He stopped crying for long enough to say, "Please say you can hear me. I love you, Waylon. I always have, and I always will."

He kissed his shoulder, and then noticed something strange about his lover. He smelled strongly of bacon and polyurethane. Puzzled, he took a closer look at his head, turning it by the chin and staring into his cold, dead eyes.

It was a dummy!

Burns' heart resumed beating. Smithers was still alive! But where? What if he was in danger elsewhere in the compound? It was then that he realized that apart from the gunfire, the place seemed empty, silent.

Lou stepped toward Burns. "Nobody's here."

"Then what were all those gunshots?"

"I saw one of these dummies and it looked like it was about to strangle Eddie, so I fired away."

"So if Smithers isn't here, then where the hell is he?"

"Beats me." Lou adjusted his hat. "Well, this was a bust."

"Come on, boys," said Eddie. "Let's get out of here. We can grab a Partially Gelatinated Non-Dairy Gum-Based Beverage at Krusty Burger."

Burns lingered there, looking around him, seeking any clues to Smithers' whereabouts. His eyes then caught sight of an invoice carelessly abandoned on the floor and gasped. He dialed McHugh. "I know where he's being held."


	16. Doubt That the Stars are Fire

**Chapter 16**

 **Doubt That the Stars are Fire**

Smithers' chair was now upright, and he kept nodding off and waking up as his head dipped down.

"It's been twelve hours, and not a peep from Burnsie," said Louie. "Face it, he ain't coming."

"If you're so sure about that, why would you even bother to post ransom on me?"

"The person who hired us isn't looking for money," said Fat Tony. "The object is to make you two suffer. On the off-chance he does come through, the money would just be a bonus."

"But he loves me..."

Fat Tony's phone rang. "Hello?"

"I swear, I tried to stop them from entering your compound. If you've hurt him, I will hunt you down and have you hanged by your entrails! Let me speak with Smithers."

"Certainly." He held the phone by Smithers' head. "It's for you."

"Waylon, are you all right?"

"I'm alive."

"Oh, thank God." It was a phrase he could not remember the last time he'd uttered. "I swear you will live through this."

"Forgive me if I'm not as optimistic." He looked to his feet, eyes heavy with subdued depression.

"What? Don't doubt me, Waylon. I would never let someone I love die."

"Except my father."

"How did you...? Waylon, I–"

"Let greed consume you. I know."

"I can explain! I never thought you would – would you let me explain?"

"If you would roll the dice with his life just to save a few bucks, how can I expect you to give up your entire fortune to save mine? You claimed you loved him, but I guess now I know what a profession of love from C. Montgomery Burns is worth."

"I still have that deal we discussed. Financial ruin is not in the cards for me any more than your death is."

Fat Tony brought the phone back to his face. "Interesting story about that deal – there was no deal. It was to lure you into a trap. When you didn't take the bait, we had to resort to other measures." Neither man spoke for fifteen seconds. "You have eleven-and-a-half hours." He hung up the phone.

Burns called Homer Simpson. "This is Monty Burns, calling for Homer Simpson. Smithers' life is in danger, and I require your services as a chauffeur. Meet me at the corner of Maple and Howell." Homer arrived shortly thereafter and began driving.

"Wait...where are we going, again?"

"The Lumberjack Co. warehouse on Dilapidated Warehouse Way."

"And why is Smithers' life in danger?"

"Mafiosos have taken him hostage and are trying to extort my fortune from me."

"And...where are we going?"

"The Lumberjack Co. warehouse." He unfurled the invoice he'd found at the mafia compound. "They stuffed those dummies with meat, and this is where they got it from. It was contaminated with the smell of the varnish they use for their Lumberjack brand furniture. McHugh, accompanied by special military operatives, is meeting us there. But first...we have an errand to run."

An hour later, they arrived a half mile outside the warehouse for The Lumberjack Co. and out of a black sedan came Mr. McHugh. Burns shook his hand. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." He gestured to the warehouse. "He's being held prisoner in there. They assured me that if they become aware we're about to ambush them, they will kill him. That must not come to pass."

"I have some of the best strategists at my disposal," said McHugh. "Johnson!" A young man of thirty with black hair stepped forward. "What do you propose?"

Johnson pulled out a diagram of the building. "Looking at these schematics, if we can just get in through the air ducts without being detected, we could send men in here and here," he said, pointing to two spots, "they'd have a clear shot at those mafiosos' heads and could shoot them. Back-up will then flood in in case they still have enough strength to harm the hostage after being shot."

"You cannot miss. If they get even a second, they'll kill him."

"Sir, we've rounded up the best marksmen in the country to work this operation. It cannot fail."

"Excellent."

They stood around for hours, forming their plans. Johnson told Burns, "We're getting ready to start. So here's the 411: we're going to activate a signal jammer to disable their security cameras. From that time, we're going to drive full-speed to the warehouse, dispatch the men, and keep men posted around the exterior to neutralize any man who steps outside before he can warn those inside about our presence."

"Won't they hear if you open fire?"

"Nah, they got this place soundproofed enough they wouldn't be able to hear a bomb going off."

"Above all else, you must keep my dear Smithers alive. Hear that? Anyone who bungles this I will personally arrange to have killed."

"Forgive me if it's none of my business, but why is his life so damn important to you?"

"Because if I let anything happen to him, I could never forgive myself."

* * *

Inside the warehouse, Legs rifled through Smithers' pockets, looking for valuables. Inside his jacket, which was really Burns', he found a gold pocket watch.

"What do we have here?" said Legs. " _I love you, Monty – always,_ " he said, reading the inscription. He scoffed. "Well, that was a big mistake, wasn't it?"

Fat Tony took the watch. "We'll have this melted down."

* * *

They activated the signal jammer, and a couple of hybrid roadsters started off. Burns hopped onto one just as it began to accelerate.

"What the hell are you doing?" said Johnson, flooring the pedal.

"I need to supervise this so I can intervene if anything goes awry."

"Okay, just don't get in our way." They stopped just ahead of the warehouse, and the stealth operatives made their way to the side of the building, covered by a number of others. Burns ran to the side of the building and crouched to the ground, peering through a small window revealing the basement. He lay there in petrified silence for twelve minutes, waiting for the operatives to make their move.

A shot rang out.

It missed.

Fat Tony had just bent over to pick up a shiny gold object he'd dropped at the moment the gun fired. He looked up toward the vent, which was away from the window Burns sat at, and began shooting at the air ducts. Burns popped the flimsy pane of glass out of place and slipped through, landing on the ground with a thud. They turned to face him, and he pulled a gun on Louie, who stood with a knife hovering in front of Smithers' throat. "Drop the knife or I shoot," he said, cocking the gun. Louie dropped behind Smithers' chair, still holding the knife over his throat, hand raised and preparing to slice the fragile flesh.

"No!" screamed Burns, tossing his gun to the ground and running to Smithers' aid. He leapt onto Smithers' lap and thrust the back of his head against Smithers' shoulder, his neck stretched over Smithers' as Louie brought the knife down.

He stopped just short of Burns' neck and turned to Legs. "If he cares that much about him, maybe he'll pay the ransom after all."

"Yes! Yes, I'll pay anything!"

"First things first," said Fat Tony. "Call off your men. Tell them it was a false alarm, and that this was a phony kidnapping Mr. Smithers set up to get you to prove your love. Once they are gone, we shall accompany you at gunpoint to get the money."

"Deal." He turned his head to Smithers' frightened yet overjoyed face. "Sit tight, Waylon. I'll have you out of here in a few hours' time." He kissed Smithers' cheek just below his eye, his lips brushing against his nose. "I love you."

"I love you, Monty," he said in a weary whisper.

Burns smiled and left through the door to tell the operatives it had been a false alarm. Hours after they all had departed, Legs and Louie each grabbed one of Burns' wrists and led him away to a truck where they stowed him in the trailer, Fat Tony staying behind to guard Smithers.

A few hours passed before they arrived back at the warehouse. One of the rolling steel doors opened, and the truck backed in. Legs and Louie brought Burns to the center of the warehouse floor where Smithers sat tied to his chair.

"Remember – you finger us, and your man Smithers is a marked man," said Fat Tony.

"I won't breathe a word," he said, looking to the ground in despair. He glanced up long enough to see Smithers' hair just over the top of his chair, and he smiled. He hugged Smithers from behind his chair and kissed his lips. "It's okay, dear." They kissed again. "It's all over." They kissed again. "You're coming home with me." They kissed again. "Not that we'll have a home for much longer."

"What are you talking about, Monty?"

"I only had a billion dollars in my various accounts. I had to sell our mansion to raise the funds to save you."

"Really? You did that for me? Well, don't fret; we can always buy something nice with the money you earn from the plant."

"No. No, we can't. I had to sell the plant, too. And all my paintings, the gold bars – everything. I have only two thousand dollars to my name."

Smithers kissed him deeply, impassioned at the knowledge that Burns truly loved him more than anything in the world. "Oh, Monty. I can't believe you'd give everything up."

"I couldn't bear to think about life without you."

"I can't believe you'd choose to be poor."

"I shall always be rich as long as I have you, my treasure."

"Kiss me again."

Burns did as he was told, running the fingertips of one hand up and down Smithers' neck while clutching his lower back with the other, prompting Smithers to moan. "We'll finish this when we get home." He kissed between Smithers' nose and upper lip. "Released hostage sex is the best sex you'll have in your life."

"I can't wait," he said, nuzzling his cheek against Burns'. "But first, I'll need to get some sleep."

"Phew. You don't know how glad I am you said that," he said, collapsing onto Smithers' lap. He yawned, then looked up to Fat Tony. "Now, release him so we can be on our way."

"Not so fast," said Fat Tony as he brought out another chair and set its back against Smithers'. Legs and Louie proceeded to tie Burns to it.

"What the devil do you think you're doing? I've paid you your asking price; now, release us at once!"

"I was discussing the matter with my associates, and they concurred that it would be unwise to let you go. So we're going to ice you both." They gasped. "So, boys, how do you want to do this?"

Legs pulled his garrote taut. "I say we strangle them."

Louie said, "Nothing is better for an execution than my trusty Tommy gun."

"I say we strangle 'em."

"And I say we shoot 'em."

"Strangle."

"Shoot."

"Strangle!"

"Shoot!"

As they argued back and forth, Smithers reached his shackled hands for Burns' and stroked his hands. Smithers spoke in a quiet monotone, "I guess we'll be sharing a coffin after all."

"Waylon, before we die, I must tell you – I wasn't negligent about the reactor safety."

"You don't need to lie. I still love you."

"Your father hired the man, not I."

"How dare you blame my father for your greed!"

"You misunderstand. The man who worked on the control rods – he was actually hired to repair the remote control for my security closed-circuit television. His surname was the same as the man hired to repair the reactor – Abel Simpson. The man who switched the assignments was Elias Grimes, and he concealed his error until after your father perished. I fired him and cursed his children, and his children's children."

"So it wasn't your fault. Oh, Monty...I'm so sorry I doubted you. Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." They stretched their heads to one side and brushed lips. _When he touches me, I don't care about the money, or my impending death – all there is is my dear Smithers – my treasure._ "If I have to die...this is the way I want to die." _Loved. True love, at last._

"Gentlemen, gentlemen..." said Fat Tony. "There are two of you, and two of them. Why don't you each kill one of them your preferred way?"

They voiced agreement, and Legs approached Burns. "I'll knock off the old man." He approached Burns from the rear and put the string of the garrote over his neck and pulled.

That moment, Smithers tilted his chair until it toppled, sending Legs to the ground and loosening the wire around Burns' neck. Louie pulled his Tommy gun on Smithers and prepared to fire.

"No!" shouted Burns. "Let Waylon go. Take me instead."

"No, Monty, don't! Kill me if you must, but save him!"

"I couldn't live knowing I let you die," said Burns. "Kill me. I'm bound to die soon, anyway."

"Oh, honey, no – don't do this."

"Damn it, Smithers, I'm trying to save your life!"

"Well, maybe I don't want you to save my life."

"Then what the hell did I give up my fortune for? You're going to live and you're going to be happy about it, whether you like it or not!"

"Wait..." said Louie. "I'm confused. Which one are we supposed to let live?"

"I think we should do whatever the last one says to do."

Fat Tony dragged the palm of his hand over his face, then looked away and waved his hand dismissively. "Just let them both go, okay? They remind me of my uncle and his husband."

Legs and Louie shrugged, then untied them. Smithers whirled around and tried to embrace Burns, but his arms were stuck behind his back from being restrained for so long. He instead leaned his face into Burns' shoulder and hummed, "Monty..." Burns brought his hands to Smithers' shoulders and ran them down his arms, gently tugging his arms forward until they closed around Burns' torso.

"All right, all right," said Fat Tony. "Now scram before I change my mind."

Smithers lifted Burns up in his arms and carried him out through the front door, sharing an unbroken kiss the whole way out the door to their limousine, the one remnant of their opulent lifestyle. Looking into Smithers' prostrate eyes, he said, "My worst nightmare has always been to lose my treasure..." His head lolled to the side, and it looked as though he was about to drift into sleep. He lifted his head up, grabbed Smithers by his bow tie, and leaned in as he whispered, "I am grateful that hasn't come to pass."


	17. The Returns of His Investment

**Chapter 17**

 **The Returns of His Investment**

Smithers awoke in their bed, still wearing Burns' suit jacket, Burns' body sprawled across his as they had slept in each other's arms. He yawned and snuggled up closer to him. He still slept soundly, snoring. _Monty looks so cute when he's exhausted._ He kissed Burns' nose. They would only have ten more nights in the mansion, and he needed to find an apartment for them quickly. However, he also wanted to make the most of their last days living in luxury, for Monty's sake.

He stared at his lover's placid, worn out expression, his mouth ajar, lips dry while saliva oozed from the corner onto Smithers' shoulder. Burns' eyes fluttered open, and upon taking in the sight of Smithers, he smiled an irrepressible smile. "It's so good to see you, Waylon." His mouth was dry and cracked. "It seems I'm a little short on saliva this morning. Could you spare me some?"

"Certainly, dear." He brought their lips together and kissed him wetly, deeply. "Is that better?"

"Much better." Smithers held his thumb to Burns' cheek and stroked him just below his jaw, and they lay together, staring into each other's eyes, each contemplating how close they came to never living this moment.

 _He gave it all up for me. I'm what he loves most in this world. I give him more pleasure than millions of dollars can._ _He loves this moment more than money. He loves_ me _more than money._

Burns giggled softly in response to Smithers' repetitious touch. _I'd never noticed before how cute he is without his glasses, with his hair scruffy, his face soiled with sweat and worry, the scratchy stubble on his chin. There is a rugged charm in the way he gets lost in my eyes._ His eyes widened as he remembered. _Oh, yes...I promised him sex._ He brought his hands to Smithers' buttocks and pulled him close before kissing him deeply and simultaneously unfastening Smithers' pants and pulling them down.

As he caught his breath from the kiss, Smithers said in a pleased surprise, "Monty..." It was a rare occasion for his 104-year-old husband to initiate a sexual encounter first thing in the morning. In fact, it had never happened before.

He kissed Smithers again.

"Oh, Monty," he said when Burns broke their next kiss, "we don't need to do this right now, if you don't want to."

"Balderdash! I paid over a billion dollars for you, and I'll be damned if I don't get my money's worth."

At that, Smithers pressed the palms of his hands over Burns' cheeks and kissed him. He stripped Burns of his pants, then paused and said, "All I can give you in return is my eternal love and devotion."

"Your love is enough." He kissed Smithers' shoulder. "Your love is more than enough."

* * *

Smithers moved a few of Burns' remaining affects – relics of his family history, a small slice of his extensive wardrobe, some portraits, and Bobo – into their new apartment, a nice upscale apartment to the average person but a dingy shack compared to the likes of what Burns had lived in for the better part of a century. They also took Winston, their favorite of the hounds. Smithers' own possessions consisted primarily of his clothes and as many Malibu Stacy dolls as he could fit into the moving truck.

"I got the call this morning," said Smithers as he entered the living room where Burns sat on their brand new Shøp couch. "They're moving my father's grave to the public cemetery tomorrow. They said it would be ready for visitation by Monday."

"Excellent," he said half-heartedly.

"Darling," he said, absentmindedly massaging Burns' shoulder, "I know this is difficult for you. But you've lost your fortune before, and you've always been able to claw your way back up to the top. I believe in you. I always have."

"No, Waylon, I am sure of it this time – I will never be wealthy again."

He sat beside him. "Don't talk that way. And even if that's true, I'll always be there for you, no matter what, and I'll do everything in my power to pamper and provide for you." He took both of Burns' hands into his. "You know I wouldn't care if you were penniless, but I know you don't want to live that way. So I don't want you to give up on happiness so easily."

"I haven't given up on happiness, though. You are the only person who has made me truly happy."

Smithers blushed and smiled, a tear in his eye. "You don't know how much that means to me."

"I want to make this clear – I don't resent you for costing me my fortune. You are worth every million, because God knows, there is not one person on this planet who could possibly replace you, and frankly, I can't imagine life without you."

"I will always be here for you." He kissed Burns' collar bone. "You know, I can sell my watch. A quarter million may not have been much to you then, but it's a lot to us now."

"No. That watch is yours. I may never be able to give you something so fine as you deserve again."

"Come here," said Smithers, hugging him. Burns dropped his head into Smithers' lap and stared up at him. "I've often had my doubts over the years, but falling in love with you is the best thing I've ever done."

Soothed by Smithers' embrace, he said, "You know, now that I'm destitute, there isn't much I can do to undermine Barlow's campaign."

"That's okay, sweetie. As long as you don't vote for him, that's all I ask."

"We could disrupt his rally this afternoon."

Smithers was stunned that Burns, a man who spent the last century firmly entrenched in the establishment, was suggesting something that sounded remarkably like a protest. "I'll go get a megaphone."

Outside City Hall, Barlow stood before a podium as the masses gathered. As Burns and Smithers arrived with their megaphone, Burns now wearing a white short-sleeve shirt and brown pants, they noticed that there was already a crowd of protesters, mostly liberal hipster college students. While Burns went to get a bottle of water, a woman spotted Smithers standing alone and ran up to him.

"Maureen," said Smithers in a quiet, under-the-breath rage.

"I know I'm the last person you want to see, but hear me out."

"Go away. Before I do something I'll regret."

"We never actually did anything. He called it off before we could, saying he couldn't bear to hurt you, and he was just kissing me goodbye because I asked him to."

"He gave me the same story. What reason do I have to believe you?"

"Because I would love to break you two up and have Monty all to myself. But he's in love with you, and nothing I can do will change that, so you might as well know he's committed to you."

"I do. But thank you for your honesty." _He chose me, then as well as now. He couldn't bear to hurt me. He kept his vows to me. And I broke mine to him._ "Ohh..." he groaned in a guilty reminiscence.

Burns rejoined him with a plastic water bottle in hand, which he fruitlessly attempted to open himself. "Waylon...?"

Wordlessly, he took the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and handed it back to his husband. After Burns took a sip, Smithers' composure faltered, revealed his inner turmoil. "Oh, Monty! I'm so sorry!"

"What the devil are you talking about? What do you have to be sorry about?"

"Maureen told me everything. You really were telling the truth..." Smithers' face screwed up in shame. "And I really was unfaithful to you. I broke my vows; how could I? You're the most precious person in my world, and I broke my vow to you! I'm a travesty of a husband! I don't deserve to wear this ring," he said, clutching his wedding band.

"Oh, quit the waterworks. You have never been unfaithful to me. No one could be as faithful to anyone as you are to me."

"But I –"

"Shh," said Burns, putting his index finger over Smithers' lips. "Don't blame yourself for my folly."

Smithers kissed his finger and held him close, sandwiching his head between Burns' cheek and shoulder. "You're too good for me."

"You have that the wrong way around, my treasure," he said, patting his back and letting out a high-pitched, savoring moan.

A man standing around the podium caught sight of them and threw his half-empty water bottle at them as he said, "This is a public place! Go be perverted at home!"

"They're so uncomfortable seeing queers express our love!" shouted a man in his twenties with orange-dyed hair and light purple-tinted half-glasses. "Well, let's give them something to be uncomfortable about!" The young protesters cheered on and each grabbed a person of the same sex and started to make out.

Burns was visibly taken aback, still unused to the sight of two men kissing and dismayed that the young man would refer to them all with such a pejorative word. _Is that what we look like when we kiss?_ He had never stopped to think about what it looked like; he was always too caught up in what it felt like.

Smithers took notice of his unease and guided him away from the young protesters. "Kids are always trying to make a scene. I had hoped we could have a more mannerly, less in-your-face demonstration." _I hope they don't scare Monty away._ He turned to the leader of the young protesters and said in a cross voice, "Well, I hope you're happy. You're just confirming their stereotypes that we're a bunch of malcontents without a shred of sexual restraint."

"Oh look, Mr. Suit is telling us to play nice with our oppressors."

"No, I'm trying to advise you on how to win hearts and minds so you don't shoot yourselves in the foot. Unless you're more concerned about making a statement than about actually getting things done." He put his hand on his hip. "And by the way, this 'Suit' has made some of the most generous donations the Springfield Gay Association has ever received, so I wouldn't be so smug if I were you." He lifted the megaphone to his mouth. "Citizens of Springfield – we gay and bisexual citizens are as much citizens as you and we come from all walks of life – like you, we sell our labor, we pay our taxes, we volunteer to better our community, we patronize our local businesses, we study in our schools, and we care for our families. We come from all racial backgrounds, all political affiliations, all religious convictions, all economic classes, and all ages.

"I support my more flamboyant gay brothers and butch lesbian sisters, who bear the brunt of society's judgment owing to their visibility, but the gay community is much more diverse than what straight people see, since those of us who can blend in usually will. Our community is vibrant as it is, and we have neither the desire nor the ability to recruit people.

"We don't ask that you change your religious beliefs. What we do ask is that you allow us our own beliefs and the same right to live according to those beliefs as the Constitution affords you and ought to afford us all. We don't want to destroy what you have; we only want to enjoy the same alongside you.

"For decades, I pined for a man I never truly believed I could have. Trust me, I never would've chosen to fall in love with Mr. Burns or any other man. But I did, and now that I have, I wouldn't choose anything else, because true love is the most exultant feeling I have ever had the pleasure to experience.

"Birch Barlow doesn't give a damn about preserving the moral fiber of our community, and frankly, I think it takes a hell of a lot more strength of character to live authentically in the face of ostracism than it does to play on people's fears for the sake of self-aggrandizement. He wants the government to intrude on our lives and to restrict our freedoms. It goes against our core values as Republicans, and it goes against our core values as Americans. A vote for Barlow is a vote to set the bar low."

The crowd began clapping, and soon thunderous applause erupted from liberal and conservative alike. "Why, Smithers!" said Burns, squeezing his elbow, thoroughly impressed. "I never knew you had this capacity for oration."

"Thanks. I've been working on that speech for days."

"What in the hell do you think you're trying to pull?" shouted Barlow, red-faced and sputtering. "Typical liberal fruitcakes think the world needs to revolve around them and hear all about their sordid sex lives."

"I'm not the one who made my sex life a matter for public discussion," snapped Smithers. "I've spent most of my life _avoiding_ that at all costs."

"Waylon, come with me," said Burns, taking his hand and moving toward the podium. He couldn't tell what his husband had planned, but he happily complied. Burns turned to Barlow and said, "You're a disgrace to the Republican ethos. You don't want to get government out of our lives; you want to expand it to enforce your pet ideology. You're no better than a common Democrat!" The crowd gasped and hushed. "How dare you besmirch our union? This man has taught me how to really, truly love another person. And I am proud to love Waylon Smithers," he said, taking Smithers' other hand into his and looking into his eyes. Turning back to Barlow, he said, "And if you dare call me a liberal again, I will give you the thrashing of a lifetime."

"You don't scare me, Burnsie. You're nothing without your money. You're just another feeble old man shaking his fist at the clouds."

Smithers put his hand on Burns' shoulder. "He's ten times the man you'll ever be." He absentmindedly massaged the back of Burns' neck, then slid his hand down to firmly grasp around his waist.

"Yeah, a doll-collecting fairy like you would know a real man when he saw one," said Barlow with a sneer.

"He is very much a real man, I assure you, and I wouldn't have him any other way," said Burns, reaching his arm around Smithers' waist and giving him a little squeeze. "And how would you know a real man when you see him? Any one of Waylon's Malibu Stacy dolls would make a better man than you," he said, poking Barlow's chest with his index finger, "you bellowing ninny-brained blowhard!"

"Go back to your rest home, you shriveled, senile old liberal!"

Burns grabbed Barlow by the lapels. "Call me that one more time and I'll have you put into a coffin."

"That is a threat. You don't have an army of lawyers to protect you from your flagrant disregard for the law anymore," he said, leaning in closer and whispering. Burns scrunched his nose in revulsion as Barlow slowly backed away. "So I'd watch what I say if I were you."

"You," said Burns in a very low, very soft, very menacing growl. "I'll kill you myself!" He wrapped his hands around Barlow's fat neck and attempted to apply pressure to his windpipe, his thumbs scarcely denting the skin. Eyes flashing with rage, he redoubled his efforts and compressed his throat enough to make Barlow struggle for breath.

Smithers gently rested his hands on Burns' shoulders and pulled him back. "Monty, what has gotten into you? I can take a few insults; I don't need you swooping in to defend me."

"Smell him!" He pulled Smithers' bow tie to bring his face closer to Barlow's chest.

"Why would I–" And then it hit him. He smelled the odor of bacon and polyurethane that had permeated the warehouse, instantly transporting him to the sleepless hours strapped to a chair, fearing he would lose his life and fearing even more that he would lose his love. He stepped between Burns and Barlow as a protective measure. "I knew you were a hateful man, but I never would've guessed you would do something so heinous."

Sweating, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Was it because you detest our sexuality so much? Or are you petty enough to try to murder someone for costing your campaign its biggest donation?"

"You've gone off your nut, Waylon," said Barlow, adopting an intimidating glare.

"Tell them how you did it. You must be so proud to make a couple of queers tremble and quake and plead for mercy."

"Listen, I was nowhere near that warehouse!"

"Who said anything about a warehouse?"

As Barlow fumbled for an answer, Burns surreptitiously rifled through an inner pocket of Barlow's jacket. "I – I'm sure it was in the papers..."

"You're sure it was in the papers? So you're only guessing. You didn't actually read about it in any paper, did you?"

"N-no, what I meant was – was that I might've read about it online. I had nothing to do with it, though."

Burns brandished the invoice he'd swiped from the mafia compound and a silvery credit card he'd just fished out of Barlow's wallet. "Then you should have no trouble explaining why the card number on this invoice for the warehouse rental matches your American Express card."

Chief Wiggum stepped up from the crowd with a pair of handcuffs. "You're under arrest, Barlow, for the abduction and attempted murder of Waylon Smithers."

"Hey, I never said they should kill him!" Wiggum slapped the cuffs on him. "And, uh, I never said they should kidnap him, either!"

"Well, well, well," said Wiggum, turning to Burns and Smithers, "looks like you're getting your fortune back after all."

"Fat chance," said Barlow. "Those mobsters took off with all but five million dollars, and I already spent that all on my campaign."

Smithers sneered at Barlow as Wiggum led him to his cop car. "Be glad you're going to prison. At least while you're there, I can't take retribution. You'd better hope they throw the book at you." As the car departed, the crowd grew restless from the commotion. A woman's familiar, wavy gray with a hint of brown hair moved through the crowd toward Smithers. "Mother? What are you doing here?"

"I came to check up on you after your ordeal, but I didn't know how to approach you since we had our falling out." Indeed, she had called many times, only to get a curt reply and a dial tone.

"How did you know I didn't fake it?"

"You're my son, and I know you. You don't like to make a scene; you like to work behind the scenes." She looked to the ground, then straight into Waylon's eyes. "I can see now that he truly loves you. I'll always have my reservations, but I'm glad you have someone who loves you like you deserve to be loved. Thank you, Monty," she said, taking Burns' hands in hers, "for being there for him. He loves you more than the whole world, so please, don't ever take him for granted."

"I won't, Mrs. Smithers. I'll never take Waylon for granted again."


	18. Bobo

**Chapter 18**

 **Bobo**

"So, are you going to do it?" Burns asked, setting his tea and cake on the nightstand. His 105th birthday had been a quiet affair, certainly far less ostentatious than his 104th celebration. He and Smithers had spent the evening alone in their apartment, his only gifts being those Smithers had gifted him – chocolates, bubble bath, and a sumptuous feast of confit de canard, camembert, and a bit of beluga caviar – a brief excursion back into the life of luxury he had left behind. "Even those Fanny Flower Powers and Freddy Free Loves want you in office despite loathing Republicans almost as much as I loathe Democrats."

"I don't know. We'd have to move to Capital City."

"Everything this town had for me, I've sold to have you. Without my mansion, my nuclear power plant, or the hotel on Baltic Avenue, I have no particular attachment to this backwater burg. Besides, we could still visit."

"I'll think about it."

"Well, think fast. Those primaries are coming up quick, and you'll want to throw your hat into the ring long before then."

"We don't exactly have the kind of money that we had when you ran for governor."

"No. But I got a call this morning from the Springfield Gay Association. They're giving us back two million of our five million dollar donation to fund your campaign. Should you accept, of course."

"Do you really think I'm leadership material? I've always been in your shadow."

"Waylon, my dear, I would never have kept you so close by my side if I didn't believe you had what it takes to become your own man. If you were nothing more than my shadow, I never would have married you. I believe in you, and I always have."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Well, you'll need many more votes than mine if you want to be elected." He shifted to a shy, dulcet tone as he trailed a finger down Smithers' chest and said, "I'd like to try it. You know, what we talked about."

Smithers blinked in happy confusion. "You mean, now?" Burns nodded, his eyelids lowered in that demanding yet sexy way Smithers so loved. "Yes, sir!" Burns had that confident, sexy eagerness about him as he unfastened his top shirt buttons. Smithers smiled seductively and began undoing his own shirt buttons before discarding the shirt entirely. He sat beside him and began to undo the rest of Burns' shirt buttons before leaning in closer, close enough to sniff his natural, intoxicating scent.

They kissed, and his lips dallied on Burns' before drifting down to his chest and licking him. Burns laughed gentle, fun-loving laughs in response to his husband's tickling and teasing and playfully said, "Oh, Waylon..." He laughed some more, deep belly chuckles that came of earnestly being amused, entertained. He put his hand around the back of Smithers' head and ran his fingers back and forth through the shallow tufts of his hair, his fingernails lodging slightly in the skin and drawing Smithers' lips back to his chest and up to his collar bone. Smithers moaned, and Burns trailed his fingers down his neck to the front until they met his Adam's apple and vibrated in synchrony with Smithers' vocalization. Burns' voice now low and breathy, he said, "Oh, Smithers..."

Smithers adjusted his positioning so as to lie partly on top of him, his arm and side torso supporting his weight enough to avoid crushing Burns' ribs. He dragged his tongue across the length of Burns' neck, their eyes rolling back in bliss. Burns licked his chest and shoulder, then leaned forward and closed his lips over his neck and sucked, making Smithers quiver in delight. He slid his tongue lower, then rolled Smithers to the other side of him, licking him progressively lower as he undid Smithers' pants.

Smithers' back arched as he felt Burns' tongue around him, not at climax but deliciously close as Burns' lips buzzed from his needful moan. Burns withdrew, keeping him at the edge and giving teasing licks just often enough to make Smithers impossibly high. "Oh, Monty! Let me come, please!"

"All in good time, my treasure." He continued teasing him for a bit.

"Tell me you need me."

"I need you, Waylon."

"Monty!" He cried in pleasure at another teasing lick. "Tell me you want me."

He looked up longingly into Smithers' eyes. "Oh, Waylon, I want you. I crave you. I starve without you."

"To let you go hungry would be criminal."

Burns grabbed him by the buttocks and pulled him close, enveloping him once again. Although Smithers had restrained himself for the sake of Burns' callow throat, he couldn't help but buck his hips, pushing himself deeper still into his husband as waves of ecstasy washed over him.

As Smithers lay back against his pillow, chest heaving, eyes rolled back, and ears ringing, for he was on the verge of fainting, Burns crawled up and encircled Smithers' shoulders with his arms, staring at his lover's blissful visage with a strong sense of pride and power. He had never made any woman as satisfied as he routinely made Smithers.

Once Smithers' vision returned and the world came back into focus, he gazed into Burns' eyes. "Are you sure you've never gone down on a man before?"

"You are the only man I have taken."

"That...that was really good for a first time. I mean, really good in general, but as your first time...incredible."

Burns looked amorously into his eyes, absentmindedly trailing his finger in spirals around Smithers' chest. "Such stalwart shoulders...such manly grace."

"And how was I, honey?" he asked, cuddling up against him.

"You were...excellent."

Smithers ran his hand across Burns' arm on the far side of him. "No, you were excellent."

Burns smiled playfully. "No, _you_ were excellent."

"You, dear."

"No, you."

"Yes, you."

He kissed Smithers' cheek. " _You_ are excellent. You are worth every million." His face turned dour. "Oh. I'm as broke as an inebriate poet." He ran his fingers through Smithers' hair and stroked the back of his head. "I've lost everything...everything but you." He looked soulfully into his eyes as he held Smithers fast. "And I couldn't be happier."


	19. Postscript

Postscript

I'm writing a short follow-up to this story. It's going to be the shark-jumping installment, but it's got more humor than seriousness, so it should be a fun romp nonetheless. Ties up the remaining loose ends and follows them for the duration of their marriage. The main reason I'm writing this, though, is that in updating the story, it came up a chapter short (I must have condensed two chapters in editing) and I needed to put something here as a placeholder.


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